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HETTY   WESLEY 


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HETTY    WESLEY 


BY 


A.    T.    QUILLER-COUCH 

AUTHOR   OF    "  THE   SPLENDID    SPUR,"    "  DEAD   MAN'S    ROCK,' 
ETC.,    ETC. 


THE    MACMILLAN    COMPANY 

LONDON:  MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  Ltd. 
1903 

A^l  rights  reserved 


Copyright,  1903, 
By  a.  T.  QUILLER-COUCH. 

Copyright,  1903, 
BY  THE  MACMILLAN   COMPANY. 


Set  up,  electrotyped,  and  published  October,  1903. 


.  •        c      « 

*  *  *   '. 


;  .*♦ :  .• .  ».•    i .  .♦• '   ' 


Nortuood  Press 

J.  S.   Gushing  &  Co.  —  Berivtck  &  Smith  Co. 

Norivoody  Mass.y   U.S.A. 


TO 

ANDREW    LANG 

A  GOOD   CHAMPION   OF  HETTY 


HETTY   WESLEY 


BOOK   I 

PROLOGUE 

« For  what  is  a  7nan  profited,  if  he  shall  gain  the  whole  world 
and  lose  his  own  soul  ?  or  what  shall  a  man  give  in  exchange  for 
his  soulf'' 

AT  Surat,  by  a  window  of  his  private  office  in  the 
East  India  Company's  factory,  a  middle-aged  man 
stared  out  upon  the  broad  river  and  the  wharves  below. 
Business  in  the  factory  had  ceased  for  the  day :  clerks  and 
porters  had  gone  about  their  own  affairs,  and  had  left 
the  great  building  strangely  cool  and  empty  and  silent. 
The  wharves,  too,  were  deserted  —  all  but  one  where  a 
Hindu  sat  in  the  shade  of  a  pile  of  luggage,  and  the  top 
of  a  boat's  mast  wavered  like  the  index  of  a  balance 
above  the  edge  of  the  landing-stairs. 

The  luggage  belonged  to  the  middle-aged  man  at  the 
window :  the  boat  was  to  carry  him  down  the  river  to  the 
Albemarle,  East  Indiaman,  anchored  in  the  roads  with 
her  Surat  cargo  aboard.  She  would  sail  that  night  for 
Bombay  and  thence  away  for  England. 

He  was  ready ;  dressed  for  his  journey  in  a  loose  white 
suit,  which,  though  designed  for  the  East,  was  almost 
aggressively  British.     A  Cheapside  tailor  had  cut  it,  and, 


2  HEJTY   WESLEY 

had  It  bei3n  blibk'  or  gray  or  snuff-coloured  instead  of 
white,  its  wearer  might  have  passed,  all  the  way  from  the 
Docks  to  Temple  Bar,  for  a  solid  merchant  on  'Change 
—  a  self-respecting  man,  too,  careless  of  dress  for  appear- 
ance' sake,  but  careful  of  it  for  his  own,  and  as  part  of 
a  habit  of  neatness.  He  wore  no  wig  (though  the  date 
was  1723),  but  his  own  gray  hair,  brushed  smoothly  back 
from  a  sufficiently  handsome  forehead  and  tied  behind 
with  a  fresh  black  ribbon.  In  his  right  hand  he  held  a 
straw  hat,  broad-brimmed  like  a  Quaker's,  and  a  white 
umbrella  with  a  green  lining.  His  left  fingered  his  clean- 
shaven chin  as  he  gazed  on  the  river. 

The  ceremonies  of  leave-taking  were  done  with  ;  so  far 
as  he  could,  he  had  avoided  them.  He  had  ever  been  a 
hard  man  and  knew  well  enough  that  the  clerks  disliked 
him.  He  hated  humbug.  He  had  come  to  India,  almost 
forty  years  ago,  not  to  make  friends,  but  to  make  a 
fortune.  And  now  the  fortune  was  made,  and  the  room 
behind  him  stood  ready,  spick  and  span,  for  the  Scotsman 
who  would  take  his  chair  to-morrow.  Drawers  had  been 
emptied  and  dusted,  loose  papers  and  memoranda  sorted 
and  either  burnt  or  arranged  and  docketed,  ledgers 
entered  up  to  the  last  item  in  his  firm  handwriting,  and 
finally  closed.  The  history  of  his  manhood  lay  shut  be- 
tween their  covers,  written  in  figures  terser  than  a  Roman 
classic:  his  grand  coiip  in  Nunsasee  goods,  Abdul  Guf- 
fere's  debt  commuted  for  500,000  rupees,  the  salvage 
of  the  Ramillies  wreck,  his  commercial  duel  with  Viltul 
Parrak  .  .  .  And  the  record  had  no  loose  ends.  He  owed 
no  man  a  farthing. 


HETTY   WESLEY  3 

The  door  behind  him  opened  softly,  and  a  small  gray- 
headed  man  peered  into  the  room. 

"Mr.  Annesley,  if  I  might  take  the  liberty  —  " 

"Ah,  MacNab.?"  Samuel  Annesley  swung  round 
promptly. 

"  I  trust,  sir,  I  do  not  intrude  ?  " 

"  '  Intrude,'  man  ?     Why  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing,  sir,"  answered  the  little  man  vaguely, 
with  a  dubious  glance  at  Mr.  Annesley's  eyes.  *'  Only  I 
thought  perhaps  —  at  such  a  moment  —  old  scenes,  old 
associations  —  and  you  leaving  us  for  ever,  sir  !  " 

"  Tut,  nonsense.  You  have  something  to  say  to  me. 
Anything  forgotten  f " 

"  Nothing  in  the  way  of  business,  sir.  But  it  occurred 
to  me  —  "  Mr.  MacNab  lowered  his  voice,  "  —  your  good 
lady,  up  at  the  burial-ground.  You  will  excuse  me  —  at 
such  a  time  :  but  it  may  be  years  before  I  am  spared  to 
return  home,  and  if  I  can  do  anything  in  the  way  of  look- 
ing after  the  grave,  I  shall  be  proud.  Oh,  no  — "  he 
went  on  hurriedly  with  a  flushed  face  ;  "  for  love,  sir ;  for 
love,  of  course,  or,  as  I  should  rather  say,  for  old  sake's 
sake,  if  that's  not  too  bold.  It  would  be  a  privilege,  Mr. 
Annesley." 

Samuel  Annesley  stood  considering  his  late  confiden- 
tial clerk  with  bent  brows.  "  I  am  much  obliged  to  you, 
MacNab,  but  in  this  matter  you  must  do  as  you  please. 
You  are  right  in  supposing  that  I  was  sincerely  attached 
to  my  wife  —  " 
"  Indeed  yes,  sir." 
"  But  I  have  none  of  the  sentiment  you  give  me  credit 


4  HETTY  WESLEY 

for.  *  Let  the  dead  bury  the  dead '  —  that  is  a  text  to 
which  I  have  given  some  attention  of  late,  and  I  hope  to 
profit  by  it  in  —  in  the  future." 

"  Well,  God  bless  you,  Mr.  Annesley !  " 

"  I  thank  you.  We  are  delaying  the  boat,  I  fear.  No  " 
—  as  Mr.  MacNab  made  an  offer  to  accompany  him  — 
"  I  prefer  to  go  alone.  We  have  shaken  hands  already. 
The  room  is  ready  for  Mr.  Menzies,  when  he  comes  to- 
morrow.    Good-by." 

A  minute  later  Mr.  MacNab,  lingering  by  the  window, 
saw  him  cross  the  road  to  the  landing-stage  and  stand 
for  a  moment  in  talk  with  the  Hindu,  Bhagwan  Dass. 
Then  his  straw  hat  disappeared  down  the  steps.  The 
boat  was  pushed  off  and  Bhagwan  Dass,  after  watching 
it  for  a  while,  turned  without  emotion  and  came  strolling 
across  to  the  factory. 

On  board  the  Albemarle  Mr.  Annesley  found  the  best 
cabin  prepared  for  him,  as  became  his  importance.  He 
went  below  at  once  and  was  only  seen  at  meal-times  during 
the  short  voyage  to  Bombay,  a  town  that  of  late  years  had 
almost  eclipsed  Surat  in  trade  and  importance.  Here  Cap- 
tain Bewes  was  to  take  in  the  bulk  of  his  passengers  and 
cargo,  and  brought  his  vessel  close  alongside  the  Bund. 
During  the  three  days  occupied  in  lading  and  stowing 
little  order  was  maintained,  and  the  decks  lay  open  to  a  pro- 
miscuous crowd  of  coolies  and  porters,  waterside  loafers, 
beggars,  and  thieves.  The  officers  kept  an  eye  open  for 
these  last ;  the  rest  they  tolerated  until  the  moment  came 
for  warping  out,  when  the  custom  was  to  pipe  all  hands 
and  clear  the  ship  of  intruders  by  a  general  rush. 


HETTY  WESLEY  5 

The  first  two  days  Mr.  Annesley'spent  upon  the  poop, 
watching  the  mob  with  a  certain  scornful  interest.  On 
the  third  he  did  not  appear,  but  was  served  with  tiffin  in 
his  cabin.  At  about  six  o'clock,  the  second  mate  —  a 
Mr.  Orchard — sought  the  captain  to  report  that  all  was 
ready  and  waiting  the  word  to  cast  off.  His  way  led  past 
Mr.  Annesley's  cabin,  and  there  he  came  upon  an  old 
mendicant  stooping  over  the  door-handle  and  making  as 
if  to  enter  and  beg,  whom  he  clouted  across  the  shoulders 
and  cuffed  up  the  companion-ladder.  Mr.  Orchard  after- 
wards remembered  to  have  seen  this  same  beggar  man, 
or  the  image  of  him,  off  and  on  during  the  two  previous 
days,  seated  asquat  against  a  post  on  the  Bund,  and 
watching  the  Albemarle,  with  his  crutch  and  bowl  beside 
him. 

When  the  rush  came,  this  old  man,  bent  and  blear-eyed, 
was  swept  along  the  gangway  like  a  chip  on  the  tide.  In 
pure  lightness  of  heart  a  sailor,  posted  at  the  head  of 
the  plank,  expedited  him  with  a  kick.  "  That'll  do  for 
good-by  to  India,"  said  he,  grinning. 

The  old  man  showed  no  resentment,  but  was  borne 
along  bewildered,  gripping  his  bowl  to  his  breast.  On 
the  quay's  edge  he  seemed  to  find  his  feet,  and  shuffled 
off  towards  the  town,  without  once  looking  back  at  the 
ship. 


MILL  — mill!  A  mill!" 
At  the  entrance  of  Dean's  Yard,  Westminster, 
a  small  King's  Scholar,  waving  his  gown  and  yelling,  col- 
lided with  an  old  gentleman  hobbling  round  the  corner, 
and  sat  down  suddenly  in  the  gutter  with  a  squeal,  as  a 
bagpipe  collapses.  The  old  gentleman  rotated  on  one  leg 
■like  a  dervish,  made  an  ineffectual  stoop  to  clutch  his 
gouty  toe,  and  wound  up  by  bringing  his  rattan  cane 
smartly  down  on  the  boy's  shoulders. 

"  Owgh  !  Owgh  I  Stand  up,  you  young  villain  I  My 
temper's  hasty,  and  here's  a  shilling-piece  to  cry  quits. 
Stand  up  and  tell  me  now  —  is  it  Fire,  Robbery,  or 
Murder  ? " 

The  youngster  pounced  at  the  shilling,  shook  off  the 
hand  on  his  collar,  and  darted  down  Little  College  Street 
to  Hutton's  Boarding  House,  under  the  windows  of  which 
he  pulled  up  and  executed  a  derisive  war-dance. 

"  Hutton's,  Hutton's, 
Put  up  your  buttons, 
Hutton's  are  rottenly  Whigs  — 

"  Mill  —  mill !  Come  out  and  carry  home  your  Butcher 
Randall !  You'll  be  wanted  when  Wesley  has  done  with 
him." 

He  was  speeding  back  by  this  time,  and  flung  this  last 

6 


HETTY   WESLEY  7 

taunt  from  a  safe  distance.     The  old  gentleman  collared 
him  again  by  the  entry. 

"  Stop,  my  friend  —  here,  hold  hard  for  a  moment !  A 
fight,  you  said  :  and  Wesley  —  was  it  Wesley  ^  " 

The  boy  nodded. 

"  Charles  Wesley  .?  " 

*'  Well,  it  wouldn't  be  Samuel  —  at  Ms  age :  now  would 
it?  "  The  boy  grinned.  The  Reverend  Samuel  Wesley 
was  the  respected  Head  Usher  of  Westminster  School. 

"  And  what  will  Charles  Wesley  be  fighting  about  ? " 

"  How  should  I  know  .?  Because  he  wants  to,  behke. 
But  I  was  told  it  began  up  school,  with  Randall's  flinging 
a  book  at  young  Murray  for  a  lousy  Scotch  Jacobite." 

**  H'm  :  and  where  will  it  be  .?  " 

The  boy  dropped  his  voice  to  a  drawl.  "In  Fighting- 
green,  I  believe,  sir :  they  told  me  Poets'  Comer  was 
already  bespoke  for  a  turn-up  between  the  Dean  and 
Sail  the  charwoman,  with  the  head  verger  for  bottle- 
holder— " 

"Now  look  here,  young  jackanapes  —  "  But  young 
jackanapes,  catching  sight  of  half-a-dozen  boys — the  van- 
guard of  Hutton's  — at  the  street  corner,  ducked  himself 
free  and  raced  from  vengeance  across  the  yard. 

The  old  gentleman  followed;  and  the  crowd  from 
Hutton's,  surging  past,  showed  him  the  way  to  Fighting- 
green  ;  where  a  knot  of  King's  Scholars  politely  made 
room  for  him,  perceiving  that  in  spite  of  his  small  stature, 
his  rusty  wig  and  countrified  brown  suit,  he  was  a  person 
of  some  dignity  and  no  little  force  of  character.  They 
read  it  perhaps  in  the  set  of  his  mouth,  perhaps  in  the 


8  HETTY   WESLEY 

high  aquiline  arch  of  his  nose,  which  he  fed  with  snuff  as 
he  gazed  round  the  ring  while  the  fighters  rested,  each  in 
his  corner,  after  the  first  round :  for  a  mill  at  West- 
minster was  a  ceremonious  business,  and  the  Head  Mas- 
ter had  been  known  to  adjourn  school  for  one. 

"H'm,"  said  the  new-comer;  "no  need  to  ask  which 
is  Wesley." 

His  eyes — set  deep  beneath  brows  bristling  like  a  wire- 
haired  terrier's — were  on  the  boy  in  the  farther  corner, 
who  sat  on  his  backer's  knee,  shoeless,  stripped  to  the 
buff,  with  an  angry  red  mark  on  the  right  breast  below 
the  collar-bone;  a  slight  boy  and  a  trifle  undersized,  but 
lithe,  clear-skinned,  and  in  the  pink  of  condition ;  a  hand- 
some boy,  too.  By  his  height  you  might  have  guessed 
him  under  sixteen,  but  his  face  set  you  doubting.  There 
are  faces  almost  uncannily  good-looking :  they  charm  so 
confidently  that  you  shrink  from  predicting  the  good  for- 
tune they  claim,  and  bethink  you  that  the  gods'  favour- 
ites are  said  to  die  young :  and  Charles  Wesley's  was 
such  a  face.  He  tightened  the  braces  about  his  waist 
and  stepped  forward  for  the  second  round  with  a  sweet 
and  serious  smile.     Yet  his  mouth  meant  business. 

Master  Randall — who  stood  near  three  inches  taller  — 
though  nicknamed  "Butcher,"  was  merely  a  dull  heavy- 
shouldered  Briton,  dogged,  hard  to  beat;  the  son  of  a 
South  Sea  merchant,  retired  and  living  at  Barnet,  who 
swore  by  Walpole  and  King  George.  But  at  Westmin- 
ster these  convictions  —  and,  confound  it!  they  were  the 
convictions  of  England,  after  all  —  met  with  scurrilous 
derision;  and  here  Master  Randall  nursed  a  dull  and 


HETTY   WESLEY  9 

inarticulate  resentment  in  a  world  out  of  joint,  where  the 
winning  side  was  a  butt  for  epigrams.  To  win,  and  be 
laughed  at !  To  have  the  account  reopened  in  lampoons 
and  witticisms,  contemptible  but  irritating,  when  it  should 
be  closed  by  the  mere  act  of  winning!  It  puzzled  him,  and 
he  brooded  over  it,  turning  sulky  in  the  end,  not  vicious. 
It  was  in  no  viciousness  that  he  had  flung  a  book  at 
young  Murray's  head  and  called  him  a  lousy  Jacobite, 
but  simply  to  provoke  Wesley  and  get  his  grievance 
settled  by  intelligible  weapons,  such  as  fists. 

He  knew  his  to  be  the  unpopular  side,  and  that  even 
Freind,  the  Head  Master,  would  chuckle  over  the  defeat 
of  a  Whig.  Outside  of  Hutton's,  who  cheered  him  for  the 
honour  of  their  house,  he  had  few  well-wishers  ;  but  among 
them  was  a  sprinkling  of  boys  bearing  the  great  Whig 
names — Cowpers,  Sackvilles,  Osborns — for  whose  sake 
and  for  its  own  tradition  the  ring  would  give  him  fair 
play. 

The  second  round  began  warily,  Wesley  sparring  for 
an  opening,  Randall  defensive,  facing  round  and  round, 
much  as  a  bullock  fronts  a  terrier.  He  knew  his  game  ; 
to  keep  up  his  guard  and  wait  for  a  chance  to  get  in  with 
his  long  left.  He  was  cunning,  too,  appeared  slower  than 
he  was,  tempting  the  other  to  take  liberties,  and,  towards 
the  end  of  the  round,  to  step  in  a  shade  too  closely.  It 
was  but  a  shade.  Wesley,  watching  his  eye,  caught  an 
instant's  warning,  flung  his  head  far  back  and  sprang 
away  —  not  quickly  enough  to  avoid  a  thud  on  the  ribs. 
It  rattled  him,  but  did  no  damage,  and  it  taught  him  his 
lesson. 


lO  HETTY   WESLEY 

Round  3.  Tempted  in  turn  by  his  slight  success, 
Randall  shammed  slow  again.  But  once  bitten  is  twice 
shy,  and  this  time  he  overreached  himself,  in  two  senses. 
His  lunge,  falling  short,  let  in  the  little  one,  who  dealt 
him  a  double  knock  —  rap,  rap,  on  either  side  of  the  jaw 
—  before  breaking  away.  Stung  out  of  caution  he  rushed 
and  managed  to  close,  but  took  a  third  rap  which  cut  his 
upper  lip.  First  blood  to  Wesley.  The  pair  went  to  grass 
together,  Randall  on  top.  But  it  was  the  Tories  who 
cheered. 

Round  4.  Randall,  having  bought  his  experience, 
went  back  to  sound  tactics.  This  and  the  next  two 
rounds  were  uninteresting  and  quite  indecisive,  though 
at  the  end  of  them  Wesley  had  a  promising  black  eye 
and  Randall  was  bleeding  at  mouth  and  nose.  The  old 
gentleman  rubbed  his  chin  and  took  snuff.  This  Fabian 
fighting  was  all  against  the  lighter  weight,  who  must 
tire  in  time. 

Yet  he  did  not  look  like  tiring,  but  stepped  out  for 
Round  7  with  the  same  inscrutable  smile.  Randall  met 
it  with  a  shame  faced  grin  —  really  a  highly  creditable, 
good-natured  grin,  though  the  blood  about  his  mouth 
did  its  meaning  some  injustice.  And  with  this  there 
happened  that  which  dismayed  many  and  puzzled  all. 
Wesley's  fists  went  up,  but  hung,  as  it  were,  impotent  for 
the  moment,  while  his  eyes  glanced  aside  from  his  ad- 
versary's and  rested,  with  a  stiffening  of  surprise,  on  the 
corner  of  the  ring  where  the  old  gentleman  stood.  A  cry 
went  up  from  the  King's  Scholars  —  a  groan  and  a  warn- 
ing.   At  the  sound  he  flung  back  his  head  instinctively  — 


HETTY   WESLEY  II 

as  Randall's  left  shot  out,  caught  him  on  the  apple  of  the 
throat,  and  drove  him  staggering  back  across  the  green. 

The  old  gentleman  snapped  down  the  lid  of  his  snuff- 
box, and  at  the  same  moment  felt  a  hand  gripping  him 
by  the  elbow.  "Now,  how  the  — "  he  began,  turning 
as  he  supposed  to  address  a  Westminster  boy,  and 
found  himself  staring  into  the  face  of  a  lady. 

He  had  no  time  to  take  stock  of  her.  And  although 
her  fingers  pinched  his  arm,  her  eyes  were  all  for  the 
fight. 

It  had  been  almost  a  knock-down ;  but  young  Wesley 
just  saved  himself  by  touching  the  turf  with  his  finger- 
tips and,  resting  so,  crouched  for  a  spring.  What  is  more, 
he  timed  it  beautifully ;  helped  by  Randall  himself,  who 
followed  up  at  random,  demoralized  by  the  happy  fluke 
and  encouraged  by  the  shouts  of  Hutton's  to  "  finish  him 
off."  In  the  fall  Wesley  had  most  of  his  remaining  breath 
thumped  out  of  him  ;  but  this  did  not  matter.  He  had 
saved  the  round. 

The  old  gentleman  nodded.  "  Well  recovered  :  very 
pretty  —  very  pretty  indeed."  He  turned  to  the  lady. 
"  I  beg  your  pardon,  madam  —  " 

*'I  beg  yours,  sir."  She  withdrew  her  hand  from  his 
arm. 

"  If  he  can  swallow  that  down,  he  may  win  yet." 

"  Please  God  !  " 

She  stood  almost  a  head  taller  than  he,  and  he  gazed 
up  into  a  singularly  noble  face,  proud  and  strong,  some- 
what pinched  about  the  lips,  but  having  such  eyes  and 
brows  as  belong  to  the  few  accustomed  to  confront  great 


12  HETTY  WESLEY 

thoughts.  It  gave  her  the  ineffable  touch  of  greatness 
which  more  than  redeemed  her  shabby  black  gown  and 
antique  bonnet ;  and,  on  an  afterthought,  the  old  gentle- 
man decided  that  it  must  have  been  beautiful  in  its  day. 
Just  now  it  was  pale,  and  one  hand  clutched  the  silk 
shawl  crossed  upon  her  bosom.  He  noted,  too,  that  the 
hand  was  shapely,  though  roughened  with  housework 
where  the  mitten  did  not  hide  it. 

She  had  scarcely  glanced  at  him,  and  after  a  while  he 
dropped  his  scrutiny  and  gazed  with  her  across  the  ring. 

"  H'm,"  said  he,  "  dander  up,  this  time." 

"  Yes,"  the  lady  answered,  "  I  know  that  look,  sir, 
though  I  have  never  seen  it  on  him.  And  I  trust  to  see 
him  wear  it,  one  day,  in  a  better  cause." 

"  Tut,  madam,  the  cause  is  good  enough.  You  don't 
tell  me  I'm  talking  to  a  Whig.''  —  not  that  I'd  dispute 
with  a  lady,  Whig  or  Tory." 

*'  A  Whig } "  She  fetched  up  a  smile  :  she  had 
evidently  a  reserve  of  mirth.  *'  Indeed,  no  :  but  I  was 
thinking,  sir,  of  the  cause  of  Christ." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  the  old  gentleman  shortly,  and  took  snuff. 

They  were  right.  Young  Wesley  stepped  out  this  time 
with  a  honeyed  smile,  but  with  a  new-born  light  in  his 
hazel  eyes  —  a  daemonic  light,  lambent  and  almost  play- 
ful. Master  Randall,  caressed  by  them,  read  the  danger 
signal  a  thought  too  late.  A  swift  and  apparently  reck- 
less feint  drew  another  of  his  slogging  strokes,  and  in  a 
flash  the  enemy  was  under  his  guard.  Even  so,  for  the 
fraction  of  a  second,  victory  lay  in  his  arms,  a  clear  gift 
to  be  embraced  :  a  quick  crook  of  the  elbow,  and  Master 


HETTY   WESLEY  1 3 

Wesley's  head  and  neck  would  be  snugly  in  Chancery. 
Master  Wesley  knew  it — knew,  further,  that  there  was  no 
retreat,  and  that  his  one  chance  hung  on  getting  in  his  blow 
first  and  disabling  with  it.  He  jabbed  it  home  with  his 
right,  a  little  below  the  heart :  and  in  a  second  the  inclos- 
ing fore-arm  dragged  limp  across  his  neck.  He  pressed 
on,  aiming  for  the  point  of  the  jaw ;  but  slowly  lowered 
his  hands  as  Randall  tottered  back  two  steps  with  a 
face  of  agony,  dropped  upon  one  knee,  clutching  at  his 
breast,  and  so  to  the  turf,  where  he  writhed  for  a 
moment  and  fainted. 

As  the  ring  broke  up,  cheering,  and  surged  across  the 
green,  the  old  gentleman  took  snuff  again  and  snapped 
down  the  Hd  of  his  box. 

"Good,"  said  he;  then  to  the  lady,  "Are  you  a  rela- 
tive of  his  ?  " 

"I  am  his  mother,  sir.'* 


II 

SHE  moved  across  the  green  to  the  corner  where 
Charles  was  coolly  sponging  his  face  and  chest  over 
a  basin.  **  In  a  moment,  ma'am,"  said  he,  looking  up  with 
a  twinkle  in  his  eye  as  the  boys  made  way  for  her. 

She  read  the  meaning  of  it  and  smiled  at  her  own  mis- 
take as  she  drew  back  the  hand  she  had  put  out  to  take 
the  sponge  from  him.  He  was  her  youngest,  and  she  had 
seen  him  but  twice  since,  at  the  age  of  eight,  he  had  left 
home  for  Westminster  School.  In  spite  of  the  evidence 
of  her  eyes  he  was  a  small  child  still  —  until  his  voice 
warned  her. 

She  drew  back  her  hand  at  once.  Boys  scorn  any  show 
of  feeling,  even  between  mother  and  son,  and  Charles 
should  not  be  ridiculed  on  her  account.  So  he  sponged 
away  and  she  waited,  remembering  how  she  had  taught 
him,  when  turned  a  year  old,  to  cry  softly  after  a  whip- 
ping. Ten  children  she  had  brought  up  in  a  far  Lincoln- 
shire parsonage,  and  without  sparing  the  rod ;  but  none 
had  been  allowed  to  disturb  their  father  in  his  study  where 
he  sat  annotating  the  Scriptures  or  turning  an  heroic 
couplet  or  adding  up  his  tangled  household  accounts. 

A  boy  pushed  through  the  group  around  the  basin,  with 
news  that  Butcher  Randall  had  come-to  from  his  swoon 
and  wished  to  shake  hands :  and  almost  before  Charles 

14 


HETTY  WESLEY  1 5 

could  pick  up  a  towel  and  dry  himself  the  fallen  champion 
appeared  with  a  somewhat  battered  grin. 

"  No  malice,"  he  mumbled:  "nasty  knock — ^better  luck 
next  time." 

"Come,  I  say,"  protested  Charles,  shaking  hands  and 
pulling  3.  mock  face,  ''  is  there  going  to  be  a  next  time  .''  " 

"Well,  you  don't  suppose  I'm  convinced — "  Randall 
began :  but  Mrs.  Wesley  broke  in  with  a  laugh. 

"There's  old  England  for  you!"  She  brought  her 
mittened  palms  together  as  if  to  clap  them,  but  they  rested 
together  in  the  very  gesture  of  prayer.  "  '  Won't  be  con- 
vinced,' you  say,  *  but  oh,  when  it's  done  you  are  worth  it ! 
Nay — don't  hide  your  face,  sir.  Wounds  for  an  honest 
belief  are  not  shameful,  and  I  can  only  hope  that  in  your 
place  my  son  would  have  shown  so  fair  a  temper." 

"  Whe-ew  !  "  one  of  the  taller  boys  whistled.  "  It's 
Wesley's  mother!" 

"  She  was  watching,  too :  the  last  two  rounds  at  any 
rate.     I  saw  her." 

"And  I." 

"  —  and  so  cool  it  might  have  been  a  dog-fight  in  Tuttle 
Fields.  Your  servant,  ma'am  !  "  The  speaker  made  her  a 
boyish  bow  and  lifted  his  voice,  "  Three  cheers  for  Mrs. 
Wesley !  " 

They  were  given  —  the  first  two  with  a  will.  The  third 
tailed  off ;  and  Mrs.  Wesley,  looking  about  her,  laughed 
again  as  the  boys,  suddenly  turned  shy  or  overtaken  by 
a  sense  of  delicacy,  backed  away  sheepishly  and  left  her 
alone  with  her  son. 

"Put  on  your  shirt,"  said  she,  and  again  her  hand 


l6  HETTY   WESLEY 

went  out  to  help  him.  **  I  want  you  to  take  a  walk 
with  me." 

Charles  nodded.     "  Have  you  seen  Sam  ?  " 

"Yes.  You  may  kiss  me  now,  dear  —  there's  nobody 
looking.  I  left  him  almost  an  hour  ago  :  his  leg  is  mend- 
ing, but  he  cannot  walk  with  us.  He  promises,  though, 
to  come  to  Johnson's  Court  this  evening  —  I  suppose,  in 
a  sedan-chair  —  and  greet  your  uncle  Annesley,  whom  I 
have  engaged  to  take  back  to  supper.  You  knew,  of 
course,  that  I  should  be  lodging  there  .?  " 

"  Sammy  told  me  on  Sunday,  but  could  not  say  when 
you  would  be  arriving." 

"  I  reached  London  last  night,  and  this  morning  your 
uncle  Matthew  came  to  my  door  with  word  that  the 
Albemarle  had  entered  the  river.  I  think  you  are  well 
enough  to  walk  to  the  Docks  with  me." 

"  Well  enough  }  Of  course  I  am.  But  why  not  take  a 
waterman  from  the  stairs  here  1  " 

**  'Twill  cost  less  to  walk  and  hire  a  boat  at  Blackwall, 
if  necessary.  Your  father  could  give  me  very  little  money, 
Charles  ;  we  seem  to  be  as  poorly  off  as  ever." 

"And  this  uncle  Annesley  — "  he  began,  but  paused 
with  a  glance  at  his  mother,  whose  face  had  suddenly 
grown  hot.     "  What  sort  of  a  man  is  he  .'^  " 

"  My  boy,"  she  said  with  an  effort,  "  I  must  not  be 
ashamed  to  tell  my  child  what  I  am  not  ashamed  to 
hope.  He  is  rich :  he  once  promised  to  do  much  for 
Emmy  and  Sukey,  and  these  promises  came  to  nothing. 
But  now  that  his  wife  is  dead  and  he  comes  home  with 
neither  chick  nor  child,  I  see  no  harm  in  praying  that  his 


HETTY   WESLEY  1 7 

heart  may  be  moved  towards  his  sister's  children.  At 
least  I  shall  be  frank  with  him  and  not  hide  my  hope, 
let  him  treat  it  as  he  will."  She  was  silent  for  a 
moment. 

"  Are  ^// women  unscrupulous  when  they  fight  for  their 
children  .''  They  cannot  all  be  certain,  as  I  am,  that  their 
children  were  born  for  greatness  :  and  yet,  I  wonder 
sometimes  — "  She  wound  up  with  a  smile  which  held 
something  of  a  playful  irony,  but  more  of  sadness. 

'*  Jacky  could  not  come  with  you  ?  " 

''  No,  and  he  writes  bitterly  about  it.  He  is  tied  to 
Oxford  —  by  lack  of  pence,  again." 

By  this  time  Charles  had  slipped  on  his  jacket,  and  the 
pair  stepped  out  into  the  streets  and  set  their  faces  east- 
ward. Mrs.  Wesley  was  cockney-bred  and  delighted  in 
the  stir  and  rush  of  hfe.  She,  the  mother  of  many  chil- 
dren, kept  a  well-poised  figure  and  walked  with  the  elas- 
tic step  of  a  maid ;  and  as  she  went  she  chatted,  asking 
a  score  of  shrewd  questions  about  Westminster — the 
masters,  the  food,  the  old  dormitory  in  which  Charles 
slept,  the'new  one  then  rising  to  replace  it ;  breaking  off 
to  recognize  some  famous  building  or  pause  and  gaze 
after  a  company  of  His  Majesty's  guards.  Her  own 
masterful  carriage  and  unembarrassed  mode  of  speech  — 
"  as  if  all  London  belonged  to  her,"  Charles  afterwards 
described  it —  drew  the  stares  of  the  passers-by;  stares 
which  she  misinterpreted,  for  in  the  gut  of  the  Strand,  a 
few  paces  beyond  Somerset  House,  she  suddenly  twirled 
the  lad  about  and  ''  Bless  us,  child,  your  eye's  enough  to 
frighten  the  town  !  'Tis  to  be  hoped  brother  Sam  has  not 


I8  HETTY  WESLEY 

turned  Quaker  in  India  ;  or  that  Sally  the  cook-maid  has 
a  beefsteak  handy." 

Mr.  Matthew  Wesley,  apothecary  and  by  courtesy 
"  surgeon,"  to  whose  house  in  Johnson's  Court,  Fleet 
Street,  they  presently  turned  aside,  had  not  returned  from 
his  morning's  round  of  visits.  He  was  a  widower  and 
took  his  meals  irregularly.  But  Sally  had  two  covers 
laid,  with  a  pot  of  freshly  drawn  porter  beside  each  ;  and 
here,  after  Charles's  eye  had  been  attended  to  and  the 
swelling  reduced,  they  ate  and  drank  and  rested  for  half 
an  hour  before  resuming  their  walk. 

So  far,  and  until  they  reached  the  Tower,  their  road 
was  familiar  enough  ;  but  from  Smithfield  onwards  they 
had  to  halt  and  inquire  their  way  again  and  again  in  in- 
tervals of  threading  the  traffic  which  poured  out  of  cross- 
streets  and  to  and  from  the  docks  on  their  right  —  wagons 
empty,  wagons  laden  with  hides,  jute,  scrap-iron,  tallow, 
indigo,  woollen  bales,  ochre,  sugar;  trollies  and  pack- 
horses  ;  here  and  there  a  cordon  of  porters  and  ware- 
housemen trundling  barrels  as  nonchalantly  as  a  child 
his  hoop.  The  business  of  piloting  his  mother  through 
these  cross  tides  left  Charles  little  time  for  observation ; 
but  one  incident  of  that  walk  he  never  forgot. 

They  were  passing  Shadwell  when  they  came  on  a 
knot  of  people  and  two  watchmen  posted  at  the  corner 
of  a  street  across  which  a  reek  of  smoke  mingled  with 
clouds  of  gritty  dust.  Twice  or  thrice  they  heard  a  crash 
or  dull  rumble  of  falling  masonry.  A  distillery  had  been 
blazing  there  all  night  and  a  gang  of  workmen  was  now 
clearing  the  ruins.     But  as  Charles  and  his  mother  came 


HETTY  WESLEY  ig 

by  the  corner,  the  knot  of  people  parted  and  gave  pas- 
sage to  a  line  of  stretchers  —  six  stretchers  in  all,  and  on 
each  a  body,  which  the  bearers  had  not  taken  the  trouble 
to  cover  from  view.  A  bystander  said  that  these  were 
men  who  had  run  back  into  the  building  to  drink  the 
flaming  spirit,  and  had  dropped  insensible,,  and  been 
crushed  when  the  walls  fell  in.  The  boy  had  never  seen 
death  before ;  and  at  the  sight  of  it  thrust  upon  him  in 
this  brutal  form,  he  put  out  a  hand  towards  his  mother 
to  find  that  she  too  was  swaying. 

''Hallo !  "  cried  the  same  bystander,  "  look  out  there! 
the  lady's  fainting." 

But  Mrs.  Wesley  steadied  herself.  "  'Tis  not  that;' 
she  gasped,  at  the  same  time  waving  him  off ;  "  'tis  the 
fire  —  the  fire  !  "  And  stepping  by  the  crossing  she  fled 
along  the  street  with  Charles  at  her  heels,  nor  ceased 
running  for  another  hundred  yards.  ''You  do  not  re- 
member," she  began,  turning  at  length;  "no,  of  course 
you  do  not.  You  were  a  babe,  not  two  years  old ;  nurse 
snatched  you  out  of  bed  —  " 

The  odd  thing  was  that,  despite  the  impossibility, 
Charles  seemed  to  remember  quite  clearly.  As  a  child 
he  had  heard  his  sisters  talk  so  often  of  the  fire  at 
Epworth  Rectory  that  the  very  scene  —  and  especially 
Jacky's  escape  —  was  bitten  on  the  blank  early  pages  as 
a  real  memory.  He  had  half  a  mind  now  to  question  his 
mother  about  it  and  startle  her  with  details,  but  her  face 
forbade  him. 

She  recovered  her  colour  in  bargaining  with  a  water- 
man at   Blackwall   Stairs.     Two  stately  Indiamen  lay 


20  HETTY   WESLEY 

out  on  the  river  below,  almost  side  by  side ;  and,  as  it 
happened,  the  farther  one  was  at  that  moment  weighing 
her  anchor,  indeed  had  it  tripped  on  the  cathead.  A 
cloud  of  boats  hung  about  her,  trailing  astern  as  her 
head-sails  drew  and  she  began  to  gather  way  on  the 
faUing  tide. 

The  waterman,  a  weedy  loafer  with  a  bottle  nose  and 
watery  blue  eyes,  agreed  to  pull  across  for  threepence ; 
but  no  sooner  were  they  embarked  and  on  the  tide-way, 
than  he  lay  on  his  oars  and  jerked  his  thumb  towards 
the  moving  ship.  "  Make  it  a  crown,  ma'am,  and  I'll 
overhaul  her,"  he  hiccupped. 

Mrs.  Wesley  glanced  towards  the  two  ships  and 
counted  down  threepence  deliberately  upon  the  thwart 
facing  her,  at  the  same  time  pursing  up  her  lips  to 
hide  a  smile.  For  the  one  ship  lay  moored  stem  and  stern 
with  her  bows  pointed  up  the  river,  and  the  other,  drift- 
ing past,  at  this  moment  swung  her  tall  poop  into  view 
with  her  windows  flashing  against  the  afternoon  sun, 
and  beneath  them  her  name,  the  Josiah  Childs,  in  tall 

gilt  letters. 

"  Better  make  it  a  crown,  ma'am,"  the  waterman  re- 
peated with  a  drunken  chuckle. 

Mrs.  Wesley  rose  in  her  seat.  Her  hand  went  up,  and 
Charles  made  sure  she  meant  to  box  the  man's  ears. 
He  could  not  see  the  look  on  her  face,  but  whatever  it 
was  it  cowed  the  fellow,  who  seized  his  oars  again  and 
began  to  pull  for  dear  life,  as  she  sat  back  and  laid  her 
hand  on  the  tiller. 

"  Easy,  now,"  she  commanded,  after  twenty  strokes  or 


HETTY   WESLEY  21 

SO.  "  Easy,  and  ship  your  oar,  unless  you  want  it  broken  !  " 
But  for  answer  he  merely  stared  at  her,  and  a  moment 
later  his  starboard  oar  snapped  its  thole-pin  like  a  car- 
rot, and  hurled  him  back  over  his  thwart  as  the  boat  ran 
alongside  the  Albe^narle' s  ladder. 

*'  My  friend,"  said  Mrs.  Wesley  coolly,  "  you  have  a 
pestilent  habit  of  not  listening.  I  hired  you  to  row  me 
to  \hQ  Albemarle,  and  this,  I  believe,  is  she."  Then,  with 
a  glance  up  at  the  half-dozen  grinning  faces  above  the 
bulwarks,  *'Can  I  see  Captain  Bewes .''  " 

"  Your  servant,  ma'am."  The  captain  appeared  at  the 
head  of  the  ladder ;  a  red  apple-cheeked  man  in  shirt- 
sleeves and  clean  white  nankeen  breeches,  who  looked 
like  nothing  so  much  as  an  overgrown  schoolboy. 

*'  Is  Mr.  Samuel  Annesley  on  board }  " 

Captain  Bewes  rubbed  his  chin.  He  had  grown  sud- 
denly grave.  "  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  he,  "  but  are 
you  a  kinswoman  of  Mr.  Annesley's  } " 

'*  I  am  his  sister,  sir." 

"  Then  I'll  have  to  ask  you  to  step  on  board,  ma'am. 
You  may  dismiss  that  rascal,  and  one  of  my  boats  shall 
put  you  ashore." 

He  stepped  some  way  down  the  ladder  to  meet  her 
and  she  took  his  hand  with  trepidation,  while  the  Albe- 
marle's  crew  leaned  over  and  taunted  the  cursing  water- 
man. 

"  There  —  that  will  do,  my  man.  I  don't  allow  swear- 
ing here.  Steady,  ma'am,  that's  right ;  and  now  give  us 
a  hand,  youngster." 

"  Is —  is  he  ill  ?  "  Mrs.  Wesley  stammered. 


22  HETTY   WESLEY 

"  Who  ?  Mr.  Annesley  ?  Not  to  my  knowledge, 
ma'am." 

"  Then  he  is  on  board  ?  We  heard  he  had  taken  pas- 
sage with  you." 

"  Why,  so  he  did ;  and,  what's  more,  to  the  best  of  my 
knowledge,  he  sailed.  It's  a  serious  matter,  ma'am,  and 
we're  all  at  our  wits'  ends  over  it ;  but  the  fact  is  —  Mr. 
Annesley  has  disappeared." 


Ill 

THAT  same  evening,  in  Mr.  Matthew  Wesley's 
parlour,  Johnson's  Court,  Captain  Bewes  told  the 
whole  story  —  or  so  much  of  it  as  he  knew.  The  dis- 
appearance from  on  board  his  ship  of  a  person  so  impor- 
tant as  Mr.  Samuel  Annesley  touched  his  prospects  in  the 
Company's  service,  and  he  did  not  conceal  it.  He  had 
already  reported  the  affair  at  the  East  India  House  and 
was  looking  forward  to  a  highly  uncomfortable  inter- 
view with  the  Board  of  Governors :  but  he  was  con- 
cerned, too,  as  an  honest  man;  and  had  jumped  at  Mrs. 
Wesley's  invitation  to  sup  with  her  in  Johnson's  Court 
and  tell  what  he  could. 

Mr.  Matthew  Wesley,  as  host,  sat  at  the  head  of  his 
table  and  puffed  at  a  churchwarden  pipe ;  a  small,  narrow- 
featured  man,  in  a  chocolate-coloured  suit,  with  steel 
buttons,  and  a  wig  of  professional  amplitude.  On  his 
right  sat  his  sister-in-law,  her  bonnet  replaced  by  a  tall 
white  cap  :  on  his  left  the  Captain  in  his  shore-going 
clothes.  He  and  the  apothecary  had  mixed  themselves 
a  glass  apiece  of  Jamaica  rum,  hot,  with  sugar  and  lemon- 
peel.  At  the  foot  of  the  table,  with  his  injured  leg  sup- 
ported on  a  cushion,  reclined  the  Reverend  Samuel 
Wesley,  Junior,  Usher  of  Westminster  School,  his  gaunt 
cheeks  (he  was  the  plainest  featured  of  the  Wesleys) 

2Z 


24  HETTY   WESLEY 

wan  with  recent  illness,  and  his  eyes  fixed  on  Captain 
Bewes's  chubby  face. 

"  Well,  as  I  told  you,  Mr.  Annesley's  cabin  lay  beside 
my  state-room,  with  a  window  next  to  mine  in  the  stern  : 
and,  as  I  showed    Mrs.  Wesley  to-day,  my  state-room 
opens  on  the  '  captain's  cabin '  (as  they  call  it),  where  I 
have  dined  as  many  as  two  dozen  before  now,  and  where 
I  do  the  most  of  my  work.     This  has  three  windows 
directly  under  the  big  poop-lantern.     I  was  sitting,  that 
afternoon,  at  the  head  of  the  mahogany  swing  table  (just 
as  you  might  be  sitting  now,  sir),  with  my  back  to  the 
light  and  the  midmost  of  the  three  windows  wide  open 
behind  me,  for  air.    I  had  the  ship's  chart  spread  before 
me  when  my  second  mate,  Mr.  Orchard,  knocked  at  the 
door  with  word  that  all  was  ready  to  cast  off.     I  asked 
him  a  few  necessary  questions,  and  while  he  stood  there 
chatting  I  heard  a  splash  just  under  my  window.    Well, 
that  might  have  been  anything  —  a  warp  cast  off  and 
the  slack  of  it  striking  the  water,  we'll  say.    Whatever  it 
was,  I  heard  it,  turned  about,  and  with  one  knee  on  the 
window-locker  (I  remember  it  perfectly)  took  a  glance 
out  astern.    I  saw  nothing  to  account  for  the  sound:  but 
I  knew  of  a  dozen  things  which  might  account  for  it  — 
anything,  in  fact,  down  to  some  lazy  cabin-boy  heaving 
the  dinner-scraps  overboard:  and  having,  as  you'll  under- 
stand, a  dozen  matters  on  my  mind  at  the  moment,  I 
thought  no  more  of  it,  but  turned  to  Mr.  Orchard  again 
and  picked  up  our  talk.     To  this  day  I  don't  know  that 
there  was  anything  in  the  sound,  but  'tis  fair  to  tell  you 
all  I  can."  —  Captain  Bewes  took  a  sip  at  his  grog  and 


HETTY   WESLEY  25 

over  the  rim  looked  down  the  table  towards   Samuel, 
who  nodded. 

The  Captain  nodded  back,  set  down  his  glass,  and  re- 
sumed. "  Quite  so.  The  next  thing  is  that  Mr.  Orchard, 
returning  to  deck  two  minutes  later  and  having  to  pass 
the  door  of  Mr.  Annesley's  cabin  on  his  way,  ran  against 
an  old  Hindu  beggar  crouching  there,  fingering  the  door- 
handle and  about  to  enter — or  so  Orchard  supposed,  and 
kicked  him  up  the  companion.  He  told  me  about  it  him- 
self, next  day,  when  we  found  the  cabin  empty  and  I 
began  to  make  inquiries.  *  Now  here,'  says  you,  *  here's 
a  clue,'  and  I'm  not  denying  but  it  may  be  one.  Only 
when  you  look  into  it,  what  does  it  amount  to  ?  Mr. 
Annesley — saving  your  presence — was  known  for  astern 
man :  you  may  take  it  for  certain  he'd  made  enemies 
over  there,  and  these  Hindus  are  the  devil  (saving  your 
presence  again,  ma'am)  for  nursing  a  grudge.  '  Keep  a 
stone  in  your  pocket  seven  years :  turn  it,  keep  it  for 
another  seven  ;  'twill  be  ready  at  hand  for  your  enemy'  — 
that's  their  way.  But,  to  begin  with,  an  old  jo£-i  is  noth- 
ing strange  to  meet  on  a  ship  before  she  clears  :  these 
beggars  in  the  East  will  creep  in  anywhere.  And,  next, 
you'll  hardly  maintain  that  an  old  beggarman  ('  seventy 
years  old,  if  a  day,'  said  Orchard)  was  going  to  take  an 
active  man  like  Mr.  Annesley  and  cram  him  bodily 
through  a  cabin  window  ?  'Tis  out  of  nature.  And  yet 
when  we  broke  into  his  cabin,  twenty-four  hours  later, 
there  was  not  a  trace  of  him :  only  his  boxes  neatly 
packed,  his  watch  hanging  to  the  beam  and  just  running 
down,  a  handful  of  gold  and  silver  tossed  on  to  the  bunk 


26  HETTY   WESLEY 

— just  as  he  might  have  emptied  it  from  his  pockets  — 
nothing  else,  and  the  whole  cabin  neat  as  a  pin." 

"But,"  objected  Mr.  Matthew  Wesley,  "if  this>^/  — 
or  whatever  you  call  him — had  entered  the  cabin  for  no 
good,  he  would  hardly  have  missed  the  money  lying  on 
the  bunk." 

"Sir,  you  must  not  judge  these  eastern  mendicants  by 
your  London  beggars.  They  are  not  thieves,  nor  ava- 
ricious, but  religious  men  practising  self-denial,  who 
collect  alms  merely  to  support  life,  and  believe  that 
money  so  bestowed  blesses  the  giver." 

"A  singularly  perverted  race!"  was  the  apothecary's 
comment. 

Captain  Bewes  turned  towards  Mr.  Samuel,  who 
next  spoke  from  the  penumbra  at  the  far  end  of  the 
table.  "  I  believe.  Captain,"  said  he,  "  that  these  mendi- 
cants are  as  a  rule  the  most  harmless  of  men  ? " 

"Wouldn't  hurt  a  fly,  sir.  I  have  known  some 
whose  charity  extended  to  the  vermin  on  their  own 
bodies." 

Mrs.  Wesley  sat  tapping  the  mahogany  gently  with 
her  finger-tips.  "  To  my  thinking,  the  key  of  this  mys- 
tery, if  there  be  one,  lies  at  Surat.  My  brother  had 
powerful  enemies  :  his  letters  make  that  clear.  We 
must  inquire  into  them  —  their  numbers  and  the  par- 
ticular grudge  they  bore  him  —  and  also  into  the  state 
of  his  mind.  He  was  not  the  sort  of  person  to  be  kid- 
napped in  open  day." 

"  —  By  a  Thames  waterman,  for  instance,  madam  }  " 
said  Captain  Bewes,  jocularly,  but  instantly  changed  his 


HETTY   WESLEY  2/ 

tone.  "  You  suggest  that  he  may  have  disappeared  on 
his  own  account?     To  avoid  his  enemies,  you  mean  ?" 

''  As  to  his  motives,  sir,  I  say  nothing :  but  it  cer- 
tainly looks  to  me  as  if  he  had  planned  to  give  you  the 
slip." 

"  Tut-tut !  "  exclaimed  Matthew.  "And  left  his  money 
behind.?     Not  likely!" 

"We  have  still  his  boxes  to  search  —  " 

"  Under  power  of  attorney,"  Sam  suggested.  "  We 
must  see  about  getting  it  to-morrow." 

"Well,  madam,"  —  Captain  Bewes  knocked  out  his 
pipe,  drained  his  glass,  and  rose, —  "  the  boxes  shall  be 
delivered  up  as  soon  as  you  bring  me  authority :  and  I 
trust,  for  my  own  sake  as  well  as  yours,  the  contents 
will  clear  up  this  mystery  for  us.  I  shall  be  tied  to 
my  ship  for  the  next  three  days,  possibly  for  another 
week  —  " 

He  was  holding  out  his  hand  to  Mrs.  Wesley  when 
the  door  opened  behind  him,  and  Sally  appeared. 

"  If  you  please,"  she  announced,  "  there's  a  gentleman 
without,  wishes  to  see  the  company.  He  calls  himself 
Mr.  Wesley." 

"  It  cannot  be  Charles }  "  Mrs.  Wesley  turned  towards 
her  son  Sam.  "  But  Charles  must  be  at  Westminster  and 
in  bed  these  two  hours !  " 

"  Surely,"  said  he. 

"  'Tis  not  young  Master  Charles,  ma'am,  nor  any  one 
like  him  :  but  a  badger-faced  old  gentleman  who  snaps 
up  a  word  before  'tis  out  of  your  mouth." 

"  Show  him  in,"  commanded  Matthew  :  and  the  words 


28  HETTY  WESLEY 

were  scarcely  out  before  the  visitor  stood  in  the  doorway. 
Mrs.  Wesley  recognized  him  at  once  as  the  old  gentle- 
man who  had  stood  beside  her  that  morning  and  watched 
the  fight. 

"  Good  evening,  ma'am.  I  learned  your  address  at 
Westminster  :  or,  to  be  precise,  at  the  Reverend  Samuel 
Wesley's.  You  are  he,  I  suppose .'' "  — here  he  swung  round 
upon  Sam  —  ''  Your  amiable  wife  told  me  I  should  find 
you  here:  and  so  much  the  better,  my  visit  being  on 
family  business.  Eh  ?  What.?  I  hope  I'm  not  turning  out 
this  gentleman.''" — indicating  Captain  Bewes  —  "No.? 
Well,  if  you  were  leaving,  sir,  I  won't  detain  you  :  since, 
as  I  say,  mine  is  family  business.  Mr.  Matthew  Wesley, 
I  presume.?  " — with  a  quick  turn  towards  his  host  as  Cap- 
tain Bewes  sHpped  away  —  ''And  brother  of  this  lady's 
husband.?  Quite  so.  No,  I  thank  you,  I  do  not  smoke; 
but  will  take  snuff,  if  the  company  allows.  I  have  heard 
reports  of  your  skill,  sir.  My  name  is  Wesley  also :  Garrett 
Wesley,  of  Dangan,  County  Meath,  in  Ireland  :  I  sit  for 
my  county  in  Parliament  and  pass  in  this  world  for  a  re- 
spectable person.  You'll  excuse  these  details,  ma'am;  but 
when  a  man  breaks  in  upon  a  family  party  at  this  hour 
of  the  night,  he  ought  to  give  some  account  of  himself." 

Mrs.  Wesley  rose  from  her  chair  and  dropped  him  a 
stately  curtsey.  "  The  name  suffices  for  us,  sir.  I  make 
my  compliments  to  one  of  my  husband's  family." 

"  I'm  obliged  to  you,  ma'am,  and  pleased  to  hear  the 
kinship  acknowledged.  A  good  family,  as  families  go, 
though  I  say  it.  We  have  held  on  to  Dangan  since  Harry 
Fifth's  time ;  and  to  our  name  since  Guy  of  Welswe  was 


HETTY   WESLEY 


29 


made  a  thane  by  Athelstan.  We  have  a  knack,  ma'am, 
of  staying  the  course  :  small  in  the  build  but  sound  in  the 
wind.  It  did  me  good,  to-day,  to  see  that  son  of  yours 
step  out  for  the  last  round." 

"  Excuse  me  —  "  put  in  Samuel,  pushing  a  candle 
aside  and  craning  forward  (he  was  short-sighted)  for  a 
better  look  at  the  visitor. 

"  Ha  ?  You  have  not  heard  .?  Well,  well  — oughtn't  to 
tell  tales  out  of  school,  and  certainly  not  to  the  Usher : 
but  your  mother  and  I,  sir,  had  the  fortune,  this  morning, 
to  witness  a  bout  of  fisticuffs — Whig  against  Tory — and 
perhaps  it  will  not  altogether  distress  you  to  learn  that 
the  Whig  took  a  whipping.  I  like  that  boy  of  yours, 
ma'am  :  he  has  breed.  I  do  not  forget " — with  another 
bow — "his  mother's  descent  from  the  Annesleys  of  An- 
glesea  and  Valentia  :  but  she  will  forgive  me  that,  while 
watching  him,  I  thought  rather  of  his  blood  derived  from 
my  own  great-great-grandfather  Robert,  and  of  our  com- 
mon ancestors  —  Walter,  the  king's  standard-bearer, 
William,  who  carried  the  heart  of  the  Bruce  to  Palestine 
—  but  I  weary  Mr.  Matthew  perhaps  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,  sir,"  the  apothecary  protested,  rubbing  a 
lump  of  sugar  on  the  rind  of  a  lemon.  "  You  will  suffer 
me  to  mix  you  a  glass  of  punch  while  I  listen  ?  I  am  a 
practical  man,  who  has  been  forced  to  make  his  own  way 
in  the  world,  and  has  made  it,  I  thank  God.  I  never 
found  these  ancestors  of  any  use  to  me ;  but  if  one  of 
them  had  time  and  leisure  to  carry  the  heart  of  the  Bruce 
to  Jerusalem  I  hope  I  have  the  leisure  to  hear  about  it. 
Did  he  return,  may  I  ask  ? " 


30  HETTY   WESLEY 

"  He  did  not,  sir.  The  Saracens  slew  him  before  the 
Holy  Sepulchre,  and  in  fact  the  undertaking  was,  as  you 
would  regard  it,  unprofitable.  But  it  gave  us  the  palmer- 
shells  on  our  coat  of  arms  —  argent,  a  cross  sable,  in  each 
corner  three  escallops  of  the  last.  I  believe,  ma'am,  the 
coat  differs  somewhat  in  your  husband's  branch  of  the 
family } "  He  spread  a  hand  on  the  table  so  that 
the  candle-light  fell  on  his  signet  ring. 

Mrs.  Wesley  smiled.     "  We  keep  the  scallops,  sir." 

"  Scallops  !  "  grunted  the  apothecary.  "  Better  for 
you,  Susanna,  if  your  husband  had  ever  found  the 
oyster ! " 

Garrett  Wesley  glanced  at  him  from  under  his  badger- 
gray  brows.  "  We  may  be  coming  to  the  oyster,  sir,  if 
you  have  patience.  Crest,  a  wivern  proper :  motto, 
'  God  is  love.'  I  am  thinking,  ma'am,  a  child  of  yours 
might  find  some  use  for  that  motto,  since  children  of 
my  own  I  have  none." 

''There  could  be  none  nobler,  sir,"  Mrs.  Wesley 
answered. 

"  'Tis  his  then,  ma'am,  if  you  can  spare  me  your  son 
Charles." 

The  lump  of  sugar  dropped  from  old  Matthew's  fin- 
gers and  splashed  into  the  tumbler,  and  with  that  there 
fell  a  silence  on  the  room.  Samuel  half  rose  from  his 
couch  and  passed  a  nervous  hand  over  his  thick  black 
hair.  His  purblind  eyes  sought  his  mother's  ;  hers  were 
fastened  on  this  eccentric  kinsman,  but  with  a  look  that 
passed  beyond  him.     Her  lips  were  parted. 

"  God  is  love,"  she  repeated  it,  soft  and  low,  but  with 


HETTY   WESLEY  3 1 

a  thrill  at  which  Garrett  Wesley  raised  his  head.  *'  If 
ever  I  had  distrusted  it,  that  love  is  manifested  here  to- 
night. There  was  a  kinsman,  sir,  from  whom  I  hoped 
much  for  my  son ;  to-day  I  learn  that  he  is  lost  —  dead, 
most  like  —  and  those  hopes  with  him.  He  was  my 
brother,  and  God  —  who  understands  mothers,  and 
knows,  moreover,  how  small  was  ever  Samuel  Annesley's 
kindness  —  must  forgive  me  that  I  grieved  less  for  him 
than  for  Charles's  sake.  The  tale  was  brought  us  by 
the  honest  man  who  has  just  left,  and  it  is  scarcely  told 
when  another  kinsman  enters  and  lays  his  fortune  in 
Charles's  hands.  Therefore  I  thank  God  for  His  good- 
ness and"  —  her  voice  wavered  and  she  ended  with  a 
frank  laugh  at  her  own  expense  —  "  you,  on  your  part, 
may  read  the  quality  of  the  gratitude  to  expect  from  me. 
At  least  I  have  been  honest,  sir." 

"  Ma'am,  I  have  lived  long  enough  to  value  honesty 
above  gratitude.  I  make  this  offer  to  please  myself. 
The  point  is,  do  I  understand  that  you  accept .'' " 

"As  for  that,"  she  answered  deliberately  —  and  Sam 
leaned  forward  again  —  '*  as  for  that,  I  am  a  married 
woman,  and  have  learnt  to  submit  to  my  husband's 
judgment.  To  be  sure  I  have  acquired  some  skill  in 
guessing  at  it."  She  smiled  again.  "  My  husband  is  no 
ordinary  man  to  jump  at  this  offer.  He  has  three  sons, 
besides  his  women  folk  —  " 

"  Whom  he  neglects,"  put  in  Matthew. 

"  His  dearest  ambition  is  to  see  each  of  these  three  an 
accredited  servant  of  Christ.  He  desires  learning  for 
them,  and  the  priest's  habit,  and  the  living  God  in  their 


32  HETTY   WESLEY 

hearts.  It  will  appear  strange  to  you  that  he  should  rate 
these  above  wealth  and  a  castle  in  Ireland  and  a  seat  in 
Parliament ;  but  in  fact  he  does.  I  know  him.  Think 
what  you  will  of  his  ambition,  it  has  this  much  of  sin- 
cerity, that  he  is  willing  to  pinch  and  starve  for  it.  This, 
too,  I  have  proved." 

"  You  may  add,  mother,"  interposed  Sam,  "  that  he 
would  like  all  these  the  better  with  a  little  success  to 
season  them." 

**  No,  I  will  add  that  he  has  perhaps  enough  respect 
for  me  to  listen  to  my  entreaties  and  allow  Charles  to 
choose  for  himself.  And  this  for  the  moment,  sir,  is  all 
I  can  promise,  though  I  thank  you  from  the  bottom  of 
my  heart." 

"  Tut,  woman  !  "  snapped  the  apothecary.  "  Close  with 
the  offer  and  don't  be  a  fool.  My  brother,  sir,  may  be 
pig-headed  —  sit  down,  Susanna  !  " 

"You  and  I,  sir,"  said  Garrett  Wesley,  "  as  childless 
men,  are  in  no  position  to  judge  a  parent's  feelings." 

"  Children  ?  Let  me  tell  you  that  I  had  a  son,  sir, 
and  he  broke  my  heart.  He  is  in  India  now,  I  believe ; 
a  middle-aged  rake.  I  give  you  leave  to  find  and  adopt 
/dm,  so  long  as  you  don't  ask  me  to  see  his  face  again. 
One  was  too  many  for  me,  and  here's  a  woman  with  ten 
children  alive  —  Heaven  knows  how  many  she's  buried 
—  ten  children  alive  and  half-clothed,  and  herself  the 
youngest  of  twenty-five!  "  He  broke  off  and  chuckled. 
"  Did  you  ever  hear  tell,  sir,  what  old  Dr.  Martin  said 
after  baptizing  Susanna  here.?  Some  one  asked  him 
*  How  many  children  had  Dr.  Annesley  .? '     'I  forget  for 


HETTY   WESLEY  33 

the  moment,'  said  the  doctor,  '  but  'tis  either  two  dozen  or 
a  quarter  of  a  hundred.'  And  here's  a  woman,  sir,  with 
such  a  sense  of  her  offspring's  importance  that  she  higgles 
over  accepting  a  fortune  for  one  of  'em !  " 

''  Can  you  suffer  this,  ma'am  ?  "  Garrett  Wesley  began  ; 
but  the  apothecary  for  the  moment  was  neither  to  hold 
nor  to  bind. 

"  Sam !  You  have  a  grain  of  sense  in  your  head.  Don't 
sit  there  mum-chance,  man !  Speak  up  and  tell  your 
mother  not  to  be  a  fool.  You  are  no  child ;  you  know 
your  father,  and  that,  if  given  one  chance  in  a  hundred 
to  act  perversely,  he'll  take  it  as  sure  as  fate.  For 
heaven's  sake  persuade  your  mother  to  use  common  cau- 
tion and  keep  his  finger  out  of  this  pie ! " 

"Nay,  sir,"  answered  Sam,  "  I  think  she  has  the 
right  of  it,  that  my  father  ought  to  be  told;  and 
that  the  chances  are  he  will  leave  it  to  Charles  to 
decide." 

Matthew  Wesley  flung  up  his  hands.  "  'Tis  a  con- 
spiracy of  folly  !  Upon  my  professional  word,  you  ought 
all  to  be  strait-waistcoated  !  "  He  glared  around,  found 
speech  again,  and  pounced  upon  Sam.  "  A  pretty  suc- 
cess jj/^//^^  made  of  your  father's  ambitions  —  you,  with 
your  infatuation  for  that  rogue  Atterbury,  and  your  born 
gift  of  choosing  the  cold  side  of  favour  !  You  might  have 
been  Freind's  successor.  Head  Master  of  Westminster 
School.  Where's  your  chance  now  ?  You'll  not  even  get 
the  under  mastership,  I  doubt.  Some  country  grammar 
school  is  your  fate  —  I  see  it ;  and  all  for  lack  of  sense. 
If  you  lacked  learning,  lacked  piety,  lacked  —  " 


34  HETTY  WESLEY 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,  but  these  are  matters  I  have  no  mind 
to  discuss  with  you.  When  Freind  retires  Nicoll  will 
succeed  him,  and  Nicoll  deserves  it.  Whether  I  get 
Nicoll's  place  or  no,  God  will  decide,  who  knows  if  I  de- 
serve it.  Let  it  rest  in  His  hands.  But  when  you  speak 
of  Bishop  Atterbury,  and  when  I  think  of  that  great 
heart  breaking  in  exile,  why  then,  sir,  you  defeat  your- 
self and  steel  me  against  my  little  destinies  by  the 
example  of  a  martyr." 

He  said  it  awkwardly,  pulling  the  while  at  his  bony 
knuckles ;  but  he  said  it  with  a  passion  which  cowed  his 
uncle  for  the  moment,  and  drew  from  his  mother  a 
startled,  almost  expectant,  look.  Yet  she  knew  that 
Sam's  eyes  could  never  hold  (for  her  joy  and  terror)  the 
underlying  fire  which  had  shone  in  her  youngest  boy's 
that  morning,  and  which  mastered  her  —  strong  woman 
though  she  was  —  in  her  husband's.  And  this  was  the 
tragic  note  in  her  love  for  Sam  —  the  more  tragic  because 
never  sounded.  Sam  had  learning,  diligence,  piety,  a 
completely  honest  mind ;  he  had  never  caused  her  an 
hour's  reasonable  anxiety  ;  only  —  to  this  eldest  son  she 
had  not  transmitted  his  father's  genius,  that  one  divine 
spark  which  the  Epworth  household  claimed  for  its  sons 
as  a  birthright.  An  exorbitant,  a  colossal  claim  !  Yet 
these  Wesleys  made  it  as  a  matter  of  course.  Did  the 
father  know  that  one  of  his  sons  had  disappointed  it  ? 
Sam  knew,  at  any  rate ;  and  Sam's  mother  knew ;  and 
each,  aware  of  the  other's  knowledge,  tried  pitifully  to 
ignore  it. 

Matthew  Wesley  bounced  from  his  chair,  unlocked  the 


HETTY   WESLEY  35 

glazed  doors  of  a  bookcase  behind  him  and  pulled  forth 
a  small  volume. 

"Here  you  have  it,  sir,  'Maggots:  by  a  Scholar'  — 
that's  my  brother.  '  Poems  on  several  subjects  never  before 
Handled'  —  that's  the  man  all  over.  You  may  wager  that 
if  any  man  of  sense  had  ever  hit  on  these  subjects,  my 
brother  had  never  come  within  a  mile  of  'em.  Listen : 
'  The  Grunting  of  a  Hog,'  '  To  my  Gingerbread  Mistress,' 

*  A  Box  like  an  Egg,'  'Two  Soldiers  killing  one  another 
for  a  Groat,' '  A  Pair  of  Breeches,' '  A  Cow's  Tail ' — there's 
titles  for  you  !  Cow's  tail,  indeed !  And  here,  look  you, 
is  the  author's  portrait  for  a  frontispiece,  with  a  laurel- 
wreath  in  his  hair  and  a  maggot  in  place  of  a  parting ! 

*  Maggots ' !  He  began  with  'em  and  he'll  end  with  'em. 
Maggots !  "  He  slammed  the  two  covers  of  the  book 
together  and  tossed  it  across  the  table. 

Mr.  Garrett  Wesley,  during  this  tirade,  had  fallen  back 
upon  the  attitude  of  a  well-bred  man  who  has  dropped 
in  upon  a  painful  family  quarrel  and  cannot  well  escape. 
He  had  taken  his  hat  and  stood  with  his  gaze  for  the 
most  part  fastened  on  the  carpet,  but  lifted  now  and  then 
when  directly  challenged  by  the  apothecary's  harangue. 
The  contemned  volume  skimmed  across  the  table  and 
toppled  over  at  his  feet.  With  much  gravity  he  stooped 
and  picked  it  up ;  and  as  he  did  so,  heard  Mrs.  Wesley 
addressing  him. 

"  And  the  curious  part  of  it  is,"  she  was  saying  calmly, 
"  that  my  brother-in-law  means  all  this  in  kindness  !  " 

"  No,  I  don't,"  snapped  Matthew ;  and  in  the  next 
breath,  "  well,  yes,  I  do  then.  Susanna,  I  beg  your  pardon. 


36  HETTY   WESLEY 

but  you'd  provoke  a  saint."  He  dropped  into  his  chair. 
*' You  know  well  enough  that  if  I  lose  my  temper,  'tis  for 
your  sake  and  the  girls'." 

"  I  know,"  she  said  softly,  covering  his  hand  with  hers. 
**  But  you  must  e'en  let  us  go  our  feckless  way.  Sir," — 
she  looked  up  — "  must  this  decision  be  made  to-night  ?  " 

*'  Not  at  all,  ma'am,  not  at  all.  The  lad,  if  you  will, 
may  choose  when  he  comes  of  age  ;  I  have  another  string 
to  my  bow,  should  he  refuse  the  offer.  But  meantime, 
and  while  'tis  uncertain  to  which  of  us  he'll  end  by  be- 
longing, I  hope  I  may  bear  my  part  in  his  school  fees." 

*'  But  that,  to  some  extent,  must  bind  him." 

"  No  ;  for  I  propose  to  keep  my  share  of  it  dark,  with 
your  leave.  But  you  shall  hear  further  of  this  by  letter. 
May  I  say,  that  if  I  chose  his  father's  son,  I  have  come 
to-day  to  set  my  heart  on  his  mother's  ?  I  wish  you  good- 
night, ma'am  !     Good-night,  sirs  !  " 


IV 

TN  a  comer  of  the  Isle  of  Axeholme,  in  Lincolnshire, 
J-  and  on  the  eastern  slope  of  a  knoll  a  few  feet  above 
the  desolate  fenland,  six  sisters  were  seated.  The  eldest, 
a  woman  of  thirty-three,  held  a  book  open  in  her  lap  and 
was  reading  aloud  from  it ;  reading  with  admirable  ex- 
pression and  a  voice  almost  masculine,  rich  as  a  deep- 
mouthed  bell.  And,  while  she  read,  the  glory  of  the  verse 
seemed  to  pass  into  her  handsome,  peevish  face. 

Her  listeners  heard  her  contentedly  —  all  but  one,  who 
rested  a  little  lower  on  the  slope,  with  one  knee  drawn 
up,  her  hands  clasped  about  it,  and  her  brows  bent  in  a 
frown  as  she  gazed  from  under  her  sun-bonnet  across  the 
level  landscape  to  the  roofs  and  church-tower  of  Epworth, 
five  miles  away,  set  on  a  rise  and  facing  the  evening  sun. 
Across  the  field  below,  hemmed  about  and  intersected 
with  dykes  of  sluggish  water,  two  wagons  moved  slowly, 
each  with  a  group  of  labourers  about  it ;  for  to-night  was 
the  end  of  the  oat-harvest,  and  they  were  carrying  the 
last  sheaves  of  Wroote  glebe.  After  the  carrying  would 
come  supper,  and  the  worn-out  cart-horse  which  had 
brought  it  afield  from  the  Parsonage  stood  at  the  foot  of 
the  knoll  among  the  unladen  kegs  and  baskets,  patiently 
whisking  his  tail  to  keep  off  the  flies,  and  serenely  in- 
different that  a  lean  and  lanky  youth,  seated  a  few  yards 

37 


38  HETTY   WESLEY 

away  with  a  drawing-board  on  his  knee,  was  attempting 
his  portrait. 

The  girl  frowned  as  she  gazed  over  this  group,  over  the 
harvesters,  the  fens,  the  dykes,  and  away  toward  Epworth : 
and  even  her  frown  became  her  mightily.  Her  favourite 
sister,  Molly,  seated  beside  her,  and  glancing  now  and 
again  at  her  face,  believed  that  the  whole  world  contained 
nothing  so  beautiful.  But  this  was  a  fixed  belief  of 
Molly's.  She  was  a  cripple,  and  in  spite  of  features  made 
almost  angelic  by  the  ineffable  touch  of  goodness,  the 
family  as  a  rule  despised  her,  teased  her,  sometimes  went 
near  to  torment  her ;  for  the  Wesleys,  like  many  other 
people  of  iron  constitution,  had  a  healthy  impatience  of 
deformity  and  weakness.  Hetty  alone  treated  her  always 
gently  and  made  much  of  her,  not  as  one  who  would 
soften  a  defect,  but  as  seeing  none  ;  Hetty  of  the  high 
spirits,  the  clear  eye,  the  springing  gait ;  Hetty,  the  wit- 
tiest, cleverest,  mirthfullest  of  them  all ;  Hetty,  glorious 
to  look  upon. 

All  the  six  were  handsome.  Here  they  are  in  their 
order  :  Emilia,  aged  thirty -three  (it  was  she  who  held  the 
book);  Molly,  twenty-eight ;  Hetty, twenty-seven;  Nancy 
twenty-two,  lusty,  fresh-complexioned,  and  the  least  bit 
stupid ;  Patty,  nearing  eighteen,  dark-skinned  and  serious, 
the  one  of  the  Wesleys  who  could  never  be  persuaded  to 
see  a  joke  ;  and  Kezzy,  a  lean  child  of  fifteen,  who  had 
outgrown  her  strength.  By  baptism,  Molly  was  Mary ; 
Hetty,  Mehetabel ;  Nancy,  Anne ;  Patty,  Martha ;  and 
Kezzy,  Kezia.  But  the  register  recording  most  of  these 
names  had  perished  at  Epworth  in  the  Parsonage  fire,  so 


HETTY   WESLEY  39 

let  us  keep  the  familiar  ones.  Grown  women  and  girls, 
all  the  six  were  handsome.  They  had  an  air  of  resting 
there  aloof ;  with  a  little  fancy  you  might  have  taken 
them,  in  their  plain  print  frocks,  for  six  goddesses  reclin- 
ing on  the  knoll  and  watching  the  harvesters  at  work 
on  the  plain  below  —  poor  drudging  mortals  and  un- 
mannerly : 

"  High  births  and  virtue  equally  they  scorn, 
As  asses  dull,  on  dunghills  born  ; 
Impervious  as  the  stones  their  heads  are  found, 
Their  rage  and  hatred  steadfast  as  the  ground.'' 

(The  lines  were  Hetty's.)  When  the  Wesley s  descended 
and  walked  among  these  churls,  it  was  as  beings  of  another 
race ;  imperious  in  pride  and  strength  of  will.  They 
meant  kindly.  But  the  country-folk  came  of  an  obstinate 
stock,  fierce  to  resent  what  they  could  not  understand. 
Half  a  century  before,  a  Dutchman,  CorneHus  Vermuy- 
den  by  name,  had  arrived  and  drained  their  country  for 
them  ;  in  return  they  had  cursed  him,  fired  his  crops,  and 
tried  to  drown  out  his  settlers  and  workmen  by  smash- 
ing the  dams  and  laying  the  land  under  water.  Fierce 
as  they  were,  these  fenmen  read  in  the  Wesleys  a  will  to 
match  their  own  and  beat  it ;  a  scorn,  too,  which  cowed, 
but  at  the  same  time  turned  them  sullen.  Parson  Wesley 
they  frankly  hated.  Thrice  they  had  flooded  his  crops 
and  twice  burnt  the  roof  over  his  head. 

If  the  six  sisters  were  handsome,  Hetty  was  glorious. 
Her  hair,  something  browner  than  auburn,  put  Emiha's 
in  the  shade ;  her  brows,  darker  even  than  dark  Patty's, 
were  broader  and  more  nobly  arched ;  her  transparent 


40  HETTY   WESLEY 

skin,  her  colour  —  she  defied  the  sunrays  carelessly,  and 
her  cheeks  drank  them  in  as  potable  gold  clarifying  their 
blood  —  made  Nancy's  seem  but  a  dairymaid's  com- 
plexion. Add  that  this  colouring  kept  an  April  fresh- 
ness ;  add,  too,  her  mother's  height  and  more  than  her 
mother's  grace  of  movement,  an  outline  virginally  severe 
yet  fiexuous  as  a  palm-willow  in  April  winds ;  and 
you  have  Hetty  Wesley  at  twenty-seven  —  a  queen  in 
a  country  frock  and  cobbled  shoes ;  a  scholar,  a  lady, 
amongst  hinds ;  above  all,  a  woman  made  for  love 
and  growing  towards  love  surely,  though  repressed 
and  thwarted. 
Emilia  read : 

"  So  spake  our  general  mother,  and,  with  eyes 
Of  conjugal  attraction  unreproved, 
And  meek  surrender,  half-embracing  leaned 
On  our  first  father ;  half  her  swelling  breast 
Naked  met  his,  under  the  flowing  gold 
Of  her  loose  tresses  hid  ;  he,  in  delight 
Both  of  her  beauty  and  submissive  charms, 
Smiled  with  superior  love  (as  Jupiter 
On  Juno  smiles,  when  he  impregns  the  clouds 
That  shed  May  flowers),  and  pressed  her  matron  lip 
With  kisses  pure.     Aside  the  Devil  turned 
For  envy,  yet  with  jealous  leer  malign 
Eyed  them  askance  ;  and  to  himself  thus  plained  :  — 
'  Sight  hateful,  sight  tormenting  !'..." 

Molly  interrupted  with  a  cry ;  so  fiercely  Hetty  had 
gripped  her  wrist  of  a  sudden.     Emilia  broke  off : 

"  What  on  earth's  the  matter,  child }  " 

"  Is  it  an  adder  .?  "  asked  Patty,  whose  mind  was  ever 
practical.     "  Johnny  Whitelamb  warned  us  —  " 


HETTY  WESLEY  4I 

"  An  adder  ?  "  Hetty  answered  her,  cool  in  a  moment 
and  deliberate.  "  Nothing  like  it,  my  dear  :  'tis  the  old 
genuine  Serpent." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Hetty  ?     Where  is  it  ?  " 

"  Sit  down,  child,  and  don't  distress  yourself.  Having 
rendered  everybody  profoundly  uncomfortable  within  a 
circuit  of  two  miles  and  almost  worried  itself  to  a  sun- 
stroke, it  has  now  gone  into  the  house  to  write  at  a 
commentary  on  the  Book  of  Job,  to  be  illustrated  with 
cuts,  for  one  of  which  —  to  wit,  the  war-horse  which 
saith,  '  Ha,  ha,'  among  the  trumpets  —  you  observe 
Johnny  Whitelamb  making  a  study  at  this  moment." 

"  I  think  you  must  mean  papa,"  said  Patty ;  ''  and  I 
call  it  very  disrespectful  to  compare  him  with  Satan ; 
for  'twas  Satan  sister  Emmy  was  reading  about." 

"  So  she  was :  but  if  you  had  read  Plutarch  every 
morning  with  papa,  as  I  have,  you  would  know  that  the 
best  authors  (whom  I  imitate)  sometimes  use  comparisons 
for  the  sake  of  contrast.  Satan,  you  heard,  eyed  our  first 
parents  askance :  papa  would  have  stepped  in  earlier 
and  forbidden  Adam  the  house.  Proceed,  Emilia !  How 
goes  Milton  on  ?  — 

"  Adam  and  Eve  and  Pinch-me 
Went  to  the  river  to  bathe : 
Adam  and  Eve  were  drown'd, 
And  who  do  you  think  was  saved?  .  .  ." 

Molly  drew  her  wrist  away  hurriedly.  "  Hetty  !  "  she 
cried,  as  Emilia  withdrew  into  her  book  in  dudgeon. 
"  Hetty,  dear  !  I  cannot  bear  you  to  be  flippant.  It  hurts 
me,  it  is  so  unworthy  of  you." 


42  HETTY  WESLEY 

"  Hurts  you,  my  mouse  ?  " — -this  was  one  of  Hetty's  ten- 
der, fantastic  names  for  her.  *'  Why  then,  I  ask  your 
pardon  and  must  try  to  amend.  You  are  right.  I  was 
flippant ;  you  might  even  have  said  vulgar.  Proceed, 
Emiha,  —  do  you  hear }  I  beg  your  pardon.  Tell  us 
more  of  the  Arch- Rebel  — 

" '  And  courage  never  to  submit  or  yield 
And  what  is  else  not  to  be  overcome  .  .  .'' 

Say  it  over  in  your  great  voice,  Emmy,  and  purge  us 
poor  rebels  of  vulgarity." 

"  Pardon  me,"  Emilia  answered  icily,  "  I  am  not  con- 
scious of  being  a  rebel  —  nor  of  any  temptation  to  be 
vulgar." 

Molly  shot  an  imploring  glance  at  Hetty :  but  it  was 
too  late,  and  she  knew  it. 

"Hoity-toity!  So  wx  are  not  rebellious  —  not  even 
Emilia  when  she  thinks  of  her  Leybourne."  Emilia  bit 
her  lip.  "  Nor  Patty  when  she  thinks  of  Johnny  Romley. 
And  we  are  never  vulgar  .-*  Ah,  but  forgive  your  poor 
sister,  who  goes  into  service  next  week  !  You  must  allow 
her  to  practise  the  accomplishments  which  will  endear 
her  to  the  servants'  hall,  and  which  Mr.  Grantham  will 
pay  for  and  expect.  Indeed  —  since  Milton  is  denied 
us  —  I  have  some  lines  here ;  a  petition  to  be  handed 
to  mother  to-night  when  she  returns.  She  may  not 
grant  it,  but  she  must  at  least  commend  her  daughter's 
attempt  to  catch  the  tone."  And  drawing  a  folded 
paper  from  her  waistband,  she  drawled  the  following,  in 
the  broadest  Lincolnshire  accent : 


HETTY    WESLEY  43 

^^  Hetty  the  Serving-maid'' s  Petition  to  her  Mother. 

"  Dear  mother,  you  were  once  in  the  ew'n, 
As  by  us  cakes  is  plainly  shewn, 

Who  else  had  ne'er  come  arter : 
Pray  speak  a  word  in  time  of  need. 
And  with  my  sour-looked  father  plead 

For  your  distressed  darter  !  *' 

Nancy  and  Kezzy  laughed  :  the  younger  at  the  absurd 
drawl,  which  hit  off  the  Wroote  dialect  to  a  hair  ;  Nancy 
indulgently  —  she  was  safely  betrothed  to  one  John 
Lambert,  an  honest  land-surveyor,  and  Mr.  Wesley's 
tyranny  towards  suitors  troubled  her  no  longer.  But 
the  others  were  silent,  and  a  tear  dropped  on  the  back 
of  poor  Molly's  hand. 

As  Hetty  took  it  penitently,  Patty  spoke  again.  "  You 
are  wrong,  at  all  events,"  she  persisted,  "about  papa's 
being  in  the  house,  for  I  saw  him  leave  it,  more  than 
half  an  hour  ago,  and  walk  off  on  the  Bawtry  road." 

"  He  has  gone  to  meet  mother,  then,"  said  Kezzy, 
"  and  poor  Sander  will  have  to  trudge  the  last  two  miles." 

"  Pray  Heaven,  then,  they  do  not  quarrel ! "  sighed 
Emilia,  shutting  the  book. 

''My  dear!"  Hetty  assured  her,  "that  is  past  pray- 
ing for.  She  will  be  weary  to  death,  and  he,  as  you 
know,  is  in  a  mood  to-day !  Though  you  thought  it  un- 
feeling, I  rejoiced  when  he  announced  he  was  not  riding 
to  Bawtry  to  meet  her  but  would  send  Sander  instead : 
for  whatever  news  she  brought  he  would  have  picked 
holes  in  it  and  wrangled  all  the  way  home.  But  this  is 
his  masterpiece :  it  contrives  to  get  the  most  annoyance 


44  HETTY   WESLEY 

out  of  both  plans.  I  often  wonder"  —  here  Hetty 
clasped  her  knee  again,  and,  leaning  back  against  the 
turf,  let  her  eyes  wander  over  the  darkening  landscape 
—  "  if  our  father  and  mother  love  each  other  the  better 
for  living  together  in  one  perpetual  rasp  of  temper  ?  " 

"  What  is  the  hour  ?  "  asked  Emilia. 

Hetty  glanced  at  the  sun. 

"Six,  or  a  few  minutes  past." 

"  She  cannot  be  here  before  half -past  seven,  and  by 
then  the  moon  will  be  rising.  We  will  give  her  a  regal 
harvest-supper,  and  enthrone  her  on  the  last  sheaf.  I 
have  sent  word  to  have  it  saved.  And  there  shall  be  a 
fire,  and  baked  potatoes." 

Kitty  clapped  her  hands. 

"  And,"  Hetty  took  up  the  tale,  "  she  shall  sit  by  the 
embers  and  tell  us  all  her  wanderings,  like  Aeneas,  till 
the  break  of  morning.  But  before  we  bid  Johnny  White- 
Iamb  desist  from  drawing  and  build  a  fire,  let  us  be  six 
princesses  here  and  choose  the  gifts  our  mother  shall 
bring  home  from  town." 

"  You  know  well  enough  she  has  no  money  to  buy 
gifts,"  objected  Patty. 

"  Be  frugal,  then,  in  wishing,  dear  Pat.  For  my  part, 
I  demand  only  a  rich  Indian  uncle :  but  he  must  be  of 
solid  gold.  He  should  come  to  us  along  the  Bawtry  road  in 
a  palanquin  with  bells  jingling  at  the  fringes.  Ann,  sister 
Ann,  run  you  to  the  top  of  the  mound  and  say  if  you  see 
such  an  uncle  coming.    Moll,  dear,  'tis  your  turn  to  wish." 

"I  wish,"  said  Molly,  "for  a  magic  mirror."  Hetty 
gave  a  start,  thinking  she  spoke  of  a  glass  which  should 


HETTY  WESLEY  45 

hide  her  deformity.  But  she  went  on  gravely.  "  I  should 
call  it  my  Why  Mirror,  for  it  would  show  us  why  we  live 
as  we  do,  and  why  mother  goes  ill-clothed  and  sometimes 
hungry.  No,  I  am  not  grumbling :  but  sometimes  I 
wish  to  know  —  only  to  know  !  I  think  my  mirror  would 
tell  me  something  about  my  brothers,  and  what  they  are 
to  do  in  the  world.  And  I  am  sure  it  would  tell  me 
that  God  is  ordering  this  for  some  great  end.  But  I  am 
weak  and  impatient,  and,  if  I  knew,  I  could  be  so  much 
braver ! "  She  ended  abruptly,  and  for  a  moment  or 
two  all  the  sisters  were  silent. 

"  Come,  Nancy,"  said  Hetty  at  length.  *'  Patty  will 
wish  for  a  harp,  for  certain  "  —  Patty's  burning  desire  to 
possess  one  was  as  notorious  in  the  family  as  her  abso- 
lute lack  of  ear  for  music  —  "  and  Emmy  will  ask  for  a 
new  pair  of  shoes,  if  she  is  wise."  Emilia  tucked  a  foot 
out  of  sight  under  her  skirt. 

"  But  I  don't  understand  this  game,"  put  in  Kezzy. 
"  A  moment  ago  it  was  Blue  Beard,  and  now  it  seems  to 
be  Beauty  and  the  Beast.     Which  is  it  .-^  " 

"We  may  need  Molly's  mirror  to  tell  us,"  Hetty 
answered  Hghtly :  and  with  that  she  glanced  up  as  a 
shadow  darkened  the  golden  sky  above  the  mound,  and 
a  voice  addressed  the  sisters  all.  "  Good  evening,  young 
ladies ! " 


ABROAD-SHOULDERED  man  looked  down  on 
them  from  the  summit  of  the  knoll,  which  he  had 
climbed  on  its  westward  side  ;  a  tradesman  to  all  appear- 
ance, clad  in  a  dusty,  ill-fitting  suit.  So  far  as  they  could 
judge — for  he  stood  with  the  waning  light  at  his  back  — 
he  was  not  ill-featured ;  but,  by  his  manner  of  mopping 
his  brow,  he  was  most  ungracefully  hot,  and  Molly  de- 
clared ever  afterwards  that  his  thick  worsted  stockings, 
seen  against  the  ball  of  the  sun,  gave  his  calves  a  hideous 
hairiness.  She  used  to  add  that  he  was  more  than  half 
drunk.  His  manner  of  accosting  them — half  uneasy, 
half  familiar — froze  the  Wesley  sisters. 

**  Good  evening,  young  ladies !  And  nice  and  cool 
you  look,  I  will  say.  Can  any  of  you  tell  me  if  Parson 
Wesley's  at  home  .•*  " 

"  He  is  not,"  Emilia  answered.  "  He  has  gone  towards 
Bawtry." 

"Well  now,  that's  what  the  maid  told  me  at  the 
Parsonage:  but  I  thought,  maybe,  'twas  a  trick — a  sort 
of  slip-out-by-the-back  and  not-at-home  to  a  creditor. 
I've  heard  of  parsons  playing  that  game,  and  no  harm 
to  their  conscience,  because  no  lie  told." 

"  Sir  !  "     EmiHa  rose  and  faced  him. 

"  Oh,  no  offence,  miss.     I  believe  you ;  and  for  that 

46 


HETTY   WESLEY 


47 


matter  the  wench  seemed  fair-spoken  enough,  and  gave 
me  a  drink  of  cider.  'Tis  the  matter  of  a  debt,  you  see." 
He  drew  a  scrap  of  dirty  paper  from  his  pocket. 
"  Twelve-seventeen-six,  for  repairs  done  to  Wroote  Par- 
sonage ;  new  larder,  fifteen  ;  lead  for  window-casements, 
eight-six ;  new  fireplace  to  parlour,  one-four-six :  ancet- 
era.  I'm  a  plumber  by  trade  —  plumber  and  glazier — 
and  in  business  at  Lincoln.  WiUiam  Wright's  my  name, 
and  Right  by  nature."  Here  he  grinned.  "  Your  father 
would  have  everything  of  the  best ;  Epworth  tradesman 

not  worth  a ,  excuse  me,  and  meaning  no  offence. 

So  he  said,  or  words  to  that  effect.  A  very  particular 
gentleman,  and  his  nose  at  the  time  into  everything. 
But  a  man  likes  to  be  paid,  you  understand  .?  So  having 
a  job  down  Owston  way,  I  thought  I'd  walk  over  and  jog 
his  reverence's  memory." 

"  The  money  will  be  paid,  sir,  in  due  course,  I  make 
no  doubt,"  said  Emilia  bravely.  Some  of  her  sisters 
were  white  in  the  face.  Hetty  alone  seemed  to  ignore 
the  man's  presence,  and  gazed  over  the  fields  towards 
Epworth. 

*'  Ah,  *  in  due  course ' !  Let  me  tell  you,  miss,  that  if 
all  the  money  owing  to  me  was  paid,  I'd —  I'd — " 
He  broke  off.  "  I  have  ambitions,  /  have :  and  a  head 
on  my  shoulders.  London's  the  only  place  for  a  man  like 
me.  Gad,  if  these  were  only  full "  —  he  slapped  his  pock- 
ets —  "  there's  no  saying  I  wouldn't  up  and  ask  one  of 
you  to  come  along  o'  me  !  There's  that  beauty,  yonder," 
he  jerked  his  thumb  at  Hetty.  "  She's  the  pick.  My 
word,  and  you  are  a  beauty,  bridling  to  yourself  there, 


48  HETTY  WESLEY 

and  thinking  dirt  of  me.  Go  on,  I  like  you  for  it :  you 
can't  show  too  much  spirit  for  William  Wright."  Molly's 
hand  closed  over  Hetty's  two,  clasped  and  lying  in  her 
lap :  Hetty  sat  motionless  as  a  statue.  "  If  only  your 
father  would  trade  you  off  against  an  honest  debt — but 
you're  gentry:  I  knows  the  sort.  Well,  well,  'tis  a  long 
tramp  back  to  Owston :  so  here's  wishing  you  good- 
night, misses  all.  If  I  take  back  no  money,  and  no  pay 
but  a  pint  of  sour  cider,  I've  seen  the  prettiest  picter  in 
all  Lincolnshire ;  so  we'll  count  it  a  hoUday." 

He  was  gone.  With  the  dropping  of  the  sun  a  chilly 
shadow  had  fallen  on  the  mound,  and  for  some  moments 
the  sisters  remained  motionless,  agonized,  each  in  her  own 
way  distraught. 

"The  brute!"  said  Kezzy  at  length,  drawing  a  long 
breath. 

Hetty  rose  deliberately.  "  Child,"  she  said,  and  her 
voice  was  hard,  "  don't  be  a  goose.  The  poor  creature 
came  for  his  money.     He  had  the  right  to  insult  us." 

She  shook  the  dew  from  her  skirt  and  walked  swiftly 
down  the  slope. 

At  the  foot  of  it  Johnny  Whitelamb  had  risen  and  was 
holding  his  drawing  aslant,  in  some  hope,  perhaps,  that 
the  angle  might  correct  the  perspective  of  old  Mettle's 
portrait.  Certainly  it  was  a  villainous  portrait,  as  he 
acknowledged  to  himself  with  a  sigh.  Parts  of  it  must  be 
rubbed  out,  and  his  right  hand  rummaged  in  his  pocket 
and  found  a  crust.  But  Johnny,  among  other  afflictions, 
suffered  from  an  unconscionable  appetite.  While  he 
doubted  where  to  begin,  his  teeth  met  in  the  bread,  and 


HETTY  WESLEY  49 

he  started  guiltily,  for  it  was  more  than  half  eaten  when 
Hetty  swooped  down  on  him. 

"  Quick,  Johnny  !  run  you  to  the  woodstack  while  I 
unpack  the  baskets.  Mother  will  be  arriving  in  an  hour, 
and  we  are  to  give  her  supper  out  here,  with  baked 
potatoes.  Run,  that's  a  good  soul :  and  on  your  way  get 
Jane  to  give  you  a  tin  of  oatmeal  —  tell  her  I  must  have 
it  if  she  has  to  scrape  the  bottom  of  the  bin ;  mid  a 
gridiron,  and  a  rolling-pin.  We  will  have  griddle-cakes. 
Run — and  whatever  you  do,  don't  forget  the  rolling-pin ! " 

Johnny  ran  with  long  ungainly  strides,  his  coat-tails 
flapping  like  a-scarecrow's.  The  coat,  in  fact,  was  a  cast- 
off  one  of  Mr.  Wesley's,  narrow  in  the  chest,  short  in  the 
sleeves,  but  inordinately  full  in  the  skirts.  The  Rector 
had  found  and  taken  Johnny  from  the  Charity  School  at 
Wroote  to  help  him  with  the  maps  and  drawings  for  his 
great  work,  the  ''  Dissertationes  in  Librum  Jobi,"  and  in 
return  the  lad  found  board  and  lodging  and  picked  up 
what  scraps  he  could  of  Greek  and  Latin.  He  wrote  a 
neat  hand  and  transcribed  carefully  ;  his  drawings  were 
atrocious,  and  he  never  attempted  a  woodcut  without 
gashing  himself.  But  he  kept  a  humble  heart,  and  for  all 
the  family  a  devotion  almost  canine.  To  him  the  Rector, 
with  his  shovel-hat  and  stores  of  scholarship,  was  a  god- 
like man  ;  with  his  air,  too,  of  apostolical  authority  —  for 
Johnny,  whom  all  Epworth  set  down  as  good  for  nothing, 
reflected  the  Wesley  notions  of  the  Church's  majesty.  In 
his  dreams  —  but  only  in  his  dreams  —  he  saw  himself 
such  a  man,  an  Oxford  scholar,  treading  that  beatific  city 
of  which  the  Rector  disclosed  a  glimpse  at  times;  his 


50  HETTY   WESLEY 

brows  bathed  by  her  ineffable  aura,  and  he  —  he,  Johnny 
Whitelamb  —  baptized  into  her  mysteries,  a  participant 
with  the  Rector's  second  son  John,  now  at  Christ 
Church  —  of  whom  (he  noted)  the  family  spoke  but  sel- 
dom and  with  a  constraint  which  hinted  at  hopes  too  dear 
to  be  other  than  fearful.  Meanwhile  he  did  his  poor 
tasks,  stayed  his  stomach  when  he  could,  and  rewarded 
his  employers  with  love. 

He  loved  them  all :  but  Hetty  he  worshipped. 

He  knew  his  place.  For  an  hour  past  he  had  been 
sitting,  as  became  a  servant,  beyond  earshot  of  the  sisters' 
talk,  yet  within  call,  should  they  summon  him.  Now  the 
goddess  had  descended  from  her  mountain  with  a  com- 
mand, and  he  ran  towards  the  woodstack  as  he  would  have 
run  and  plunged  into  the  water-dyke,  had  she  bidden 
him. 

He  returned  to  find  her  waiting  with  her  sleeves  tucked 
above  her  elbows. 

"  Oh,  Johnny  —  I  forgot  the  tinder-box  !"  she  cried. 

He  dropped  his  burdens  and  produced  it  triumphantly 
from  his  tail  pocket. 

"  I  thought  of  that !  " 

"  But  you  must  not !  "  —  as  he  dropped  on  his  knees 
and  began  to  unbind  and  break  up  the  sticks.  "  This  is 
my  business.  I  am  going  into  service,  in  ten  days  —  at 
Kelstein :  and  you  must  watch  and  tell  me  what  I  do 
amiss." 

She  pulled  the  faggot  towards  her,  broke  up  the  sticks, 
and  built  the  fragments  daintily  into  a  heap,  with  a 
handful  of  dry  leaves  as  basis.     The  twilight  deepened 


HETTY   WESLEY  5 1 

around  them  as  she  built.  Next  she  struck  flint  on  steel, 
caught  the  spark  on  tinder,  and  blew.  Johnny  watched 
the  glow  on  her  cheeks  wakening  and  fading,  and,  watch- 
ing, fell  into  a  brown  study. 

"  There !  "  she  exclaimed,  straightening  herself  upon 
her  knees  as  the  blaze  caught.  "  Is  that  a  good  omen 
for  Kelstein .? " 

Her  eyes  were  on  the  sticks,  and  in  their  crackling  she 
did  not  listen  for  his  answer,  but  commanded  him  to  take 
a  pitcher  of  water  and  pour,  while  she  mixed  and  kneaded 
the  meal.  To  the  making  of  bread,  cakes,  pastry,  Hetty 
brought  a  born  gift;  a  hand  so  Hght,  quick,  and  cool, 
that  Johnny  could  have  groaned  for  his  own  fumbling 
fingers.  A  dozen  cakes  were  finished  and  banked  in  the 
wood-ashes  as  the  fire  died  down  to  a  steadily  glowing 
mass.  By  this  time  the  landscape  about  them  lay  flat  to 
the  eye  and  gray,  touched  with  the  faint  gold  of  moon- 
rise,  and  just  then  Emilia  called  down  from  the  mound 
that  the  travellers  were  in  sight  on  the  Bawtry  road. 

The  others  ran  to  meet  them :  but  Hetty  remained  by 
her  task,  silent,  and  Johnny  silent  beside  her.  Together 
they  spread  the  two  meals,  one  beside  the  fire  for  the 
family,  the  other  some  fifty  yards  off  for  the  harvesters, 
now  moving  towards  the  rick-yard  with  the  last  load. 

Hetty  was  not  her  mother's  favourite.  EmiUa  and 
Patty  divided  that  honour  by  consent,  though  the  balance 
appeared  now  and  then  to  incline  towards  Patty.  But 
between  Mrs.  Wesley  and  her  fairest  daughter  there 
rested  always  a  shadow  of  restraint,  curious  enough  in 
its  origin,  which  was  that  they  knew  each  other  better 


52 


HETTY   WESLEY 


than  the  rest.  Often  and  quite  casually  Hetty  would 
guess  some  thought  in  her  mother's  mind  hidden  from 
her  sisters.  She  made  no  parade  of  this  insight,  set  up 
no  claim  upon  it ;  merely  gave  proof  of  it  in  passing, 
and  fell  back  on  her  attitude  of  guarded  affection.  And 
Mrs.  Wesley  seemed  to  draw  back  uneasily  from  these 
reflections  of  herself,  and  take  refuge  in  Patty,  who,  of 
all  her  children,  understood  her  the  least. 

So  now  when  the  others  brought  their  mother  to  the 
feast  in  triumph,  Hetty  swept  her  a  curtsey  with  skirt 
held  wide,  then  went  straight  and  kissed  her  on  both 
cheeks. 

"  Ah,  what  a  dear  truant  'tis !  and  how  good  'tis  to 
have  her  home  again  !  " 

She  did  not  ask  (as  Nancy  or  Patty  would  assuredly 
have  asked)  what  had  become  of  her  father.  She  noted, 
even  in  the  half-light,  a  flush  on  her  mother's  temples, 
and  guessed  at  once  that  there  had  been  a  duel  of  tem- 
pers on  the  road,  and  that,  likely  enough,  papa  had 
bounced  into  the  house  in  a  huff.  The  others  had,  in 
fact,  witnessed  this  exit.  Hetty,  who  divined  it,  went 
the  swiftest  way  to  efface  the  memory.  She  alone,  on 
occasion,  could  treat  her  mother  playfully,  as  an  equal 
in  years  ;  and  she  did  so  now,  taking  her  by  the  hand, 
and  conducting  her  with  mock  solemnity  to  the  seat 
of  honour. 

"It  is  good  to  be  home,"  Mrs.  Wesley  admitted  as 
they  seated  her,  dusted  her  worn  shoes,  and  plied  her 
with  milk  and  hot  griddle-cakes,  potatoes  slit  and 
sprinkled  with  salt  upon  appetizing  lumps  of  butter. 


HETTY   WESLEY  53 

She  forgot  her  vexation.  Even  the  Wroote  labourers 
seemed  less  surly  than  usual.  One  or  two,  as  they 
gathered,  stepped  forward  to  welcome  her  and  wish 
her  health  before  ranging  themselves  at  their  separate 
meal :  and  soon  a  pleasant  murmur  of  voices  went  up 
from  either  group  at  supper  in  the  broad  meadow  under 
the  moon. 

"  But  where  have  you  left  uncle  Annesley  ? "  asked 
Kezzy.  "  And  are  we  all  to  be  rich  and  live  in  comfort 
at  last .? " 

Mrs.  Wesley  shook  her  head.  "  He  was  not  on 
board  the  Albemarle^  She  told  of  her  visit  to  the 
ship  and  the  captain's  story ;  adding  that  their  uncle's 
boxes,  when  handed  over  and  examined,  contained  no 
papers  at  all,  no  will,  no  bonds,  not  so  much  as  a  scrap 
to  throw  light  on  the  mystery.  And  as  they  sat  silent 
in  dismay,  she  went  on  to  tell  of  Garrett  Wesley  and 
the  fortune  unexpectedly  laid  at  Charles's  feet. 

Emilia  was  the  first  to  find  speech.  "  So,"  she  com- 
mented bitterly,  "yet  another  of  our  brothers  is  in 
luck's  way.  Always  our  brothers !  Westminster  and 
Oxford  for  them,  and  afterwards,  it  seems,  a  fortune  : 
while  we  sit  at  home  in  rags,  or  drudge  and  eat  the 
bread  of  service.  Oh,  why,  mother.?  You  and  we 
suffer  together  —  do  you  believe  it  can  be  God's  will .?  " 

Hetty  drew  a  long  breath.  "Perhaps,"  she  said 
drearily,  "  Charles  will  clothe  us  when  he  gets  this 
money.  Perhaps  he  will  even  find  us  wooers  in  place 
of  those  to  whom  papa  has  shown  the  door." 

"  I  am  not  sure  your  father  will  allow  Charles  to 


54  HETTY   WESLEY 

accept,"  said  Mrs.  Wesley  gently ;  "though  I  may  per- 
suade him  to  let  the  lad  decide  for  himself  when  he 
comes  of  age.     Until  then  the  offer  stands  open." 

"  I  sometimes  wonder,"  Emilia  mused,  "  if  our  father 
be  not  staring  mad." 

"  Hush,  child  :  that  is  neither  for  you  to  say  nor  for 
me  to  hear.  You  know  it  has  been  almost  a  vow  with 
him  to  dedicate  your  three  brothers  to  God's  service." 

"  Charles  might  inherit  Dangan  Castle  and  serve  God 
too.  There  is  no  law  that  an  Irish  squire  must  spend 
all  his  time  cockfighting." 

"  These  vows !  "  murmured  Hetty,  flinging  herself 
back  in  her  favourite  attitude  and  nursing  her  knee. 
"  If  folks  will  not  obey  Christ's  command  and  swear 
not  at  all,  they  might  at  least  choose  a  vow  which  only 
hurts  themselves.  Now,  papa"  —  Hetty  shot  a  glance 
at  her  mother,  who  felt  it,  even  in  the  dusk,  and  bent 
her  eyes  on  the  smouldering  fire.  The  girl  had  heard 
(for  it  was  kitchen  gossip)  that  Mr.  Wesley  had  once 
quarrelled  with  his  wife  over  politics,  and  left  Epworth 
rectory  vowing  never  to  return  to  her  until  she  acknow- 
ledged WilHam  III.  for  her  rightful  king;  nor  indeed 
had  returned  until  William's  death  made  the  vow  idle 
and  released  him.  "Now,  papa"  —  after  a  pause  — 
"  has  an  unfortunate  habit,  like  Jephthah,  of  swearing 
to  another's  hurt.  For  instance,  since  Sukey  married 
Dick  Ellison,  he  seems  to  have  vowed  that  none  of 
us  shall  have  a  lover ;  and  so,  dear  mother,  you  might 
have  found  us  just  now,  Uke  six  daughters  of  Jephthah, 
bewailing  our  fates  upon  a  hill." 


HETTY   WESLEY  55 

"  He  has  no  fault  to  find  with  my  John  Lambert,"  put 
in  Nancy. 

Hetty  did  not  heed.  "  I  have  no  patience  with  these 
swearers.  A  man,  or  a  woman  for  that  matter,  should 
have  the  courage  to  outbrave  an  oath  when  it  hurts  the 
innocent.  Did  God  require  the  blood  of  Jephthah's 
daughter  ?  or  of  the  sons  of  Rizpah }  Think,  mother,  if 
this  fire  were  Ht  in  the  fields  here,  and  you  sitting  by  it 
to  scare  the  beasts  from  your  three  sons  !  I  cannot  like 
that  David.  Saul,  now,  was  a  man  and  a  king,  every  inch 
of  him,  even  in  his  dark  hours.  David  had  no  breeding 
—  a  pretty,  florid  man,  with  his  curls  and  pink  cheeks ; 
one  moment  dancing  and  singing,  and  the  next  weeping 
on  his  bed.  Some  women  like  that  kind  of  man  :  but  his 
complexion  wears  off.  In  the  end  he  grows  nasty,  and 
from  the  first  he  is  disgustingly  underbred." 

"  Hetty  !  " 

"  I  cannot  help  it,  mother.  Had  I  been  Michal,  and 
Saul's  daughter,  and  had  seen  that  man  capering  before 
the  ark,  I  should  have  scorned  him  as  she  did." 

And  Hetty  stood  up  and  strode  away  into  the 
darkness. 

In  the  darkness,  almost  an  hour  later,  Molly  found  her 
by  the  edge  of  a  dyke.  She  had  a  handkerchief  twisted 
between  her  fingers,  and  kept  wringing  it  as  she  paced 
to  and  fro.  Why  had  she  given  way  to  passion  .?  Why, 
on  this  night  of  all  nights,  had  she  saddened  her  mother  } 
And  why  by  an  outburst  against  David,  of  all  people  in 
the  world  ? 

She  could  not  tell.     When  the  temper  is  overcharged 


56  HETTY   WESLEY 

it  overflows,  nine  times  out  of  ten,  into  a  channel 
absurdly  irrelevant. 

What  on  earth  had  David  to  do  with  it  ?  She  halted 
and  laughed  while  Molly  entreated  her.  In  the  dyke 
the  black  water  crawled  at  her  feet,  and  upon  it  a  star 
shone. 

"Star  Mary  —  Stella  maris,  if  only  you  will  shine 
steadily  and  guide  me !  Kiss  me  now,  and  hear  that  I 
am  sorry." 

But  it  was  Molly  who,  later  that  night,  put  out  both 
arms  in  the  bed  where  they  slept  together :  and  with  a 
wail  which  lasted  until  Hetty's  enfolded  her  and  held 
her  close. 

"I  was  dreaming,"  she  muttered.  "I  dreamt  —  of 
that  man." 


VI 

FOR  six  months  of  the  year,  sometimes  for  longer, 
the  thatched  parsonage  at  Wroote  rose  out  of  a 
world  of  waters,  forlorn  as  a  cornstack  in  a  flood,  and 
the  Rector  of  Ep worth  journeyed  between  his  two  par- 
ishes by  boat,  often  in  soaked  breeches,  and  sometimes 
with  a  napkin  tied  over  his  hat  and  wig.  But  in  this 
harvest  weather,  while  the  sun  shone  and  the  meadow- 
breezes  overcame  the  odours  of  damp  walls  and  wood- 
work of  the  pig-sty  at  the  back  and  of  rotting  weed 
beyond,  the  Wesley  household  lived  cheerfully  enough, 
albeit  pinched  for  room ;  more  cheerfully  than  at  Ep- 
worth,  where  the  more  spacious  rectory,  rebuilt  by 
Mr.  Wesley  at  a  cost  of  ;£400,  remained  half-fur- 
nished after  fourteen  years  —  a  perpetual  reminder  of 
debt. 

Here  at  any  rate,  although  Wroote  tithe  brought  in  a 
bare  £^o  a  year,  they  could  manage  to  live  and  pay  their 
way,  and  feel  meanwhile  that  they  were  lessening  the 
burden.  For  Dick  EUison,  Sukey's  husband,  had  under- 
taken to  finance  Epworth  tithe,  and  was  renting  the 
rectory  for  a  while  with  the  purpose  of  bringing  his 
father-in-law's  affairs  to  order  —  a  filial  offer  which  Mr. 
Wesley  perforce  accepted  while  hating  Dick  from  the 

57 


58  HETTY   WESLEY 

bottom  of  his  heart,  and  the  deeper  because  of  this 
necessity. 

Dick  was  his  "wen,"  "more  unpleasant  to  him  than 
all  his  physic"  —  a  red-faced,  uneducated  squireen,  with 
money  in  his  pockets  (as  yet),  a  swaggering  manner  due 
to  want  of  sense  rather  than  deliberate  offensiveness,  and 
a  loud  patronizing  laugh  which  drove  the  Rector  mad. 
Comedy  presided  over  their  encounter ;  but  such  comedy 
as  only  the  ill-natured  can  enjoy.  And  the  Rector,  sple- 
netic, exacting,  jealous  of  authority,  after  writhing  for  a 
time  under  Dick's  candid  treatment  of  him  as  a  child, 
usually  cut  short  the  scene  by  bouncing  off  to  his  library 
and  slamming  the  door  behind  him. 

Even  Mrs.  Wesley  detested  her  son-in-law,  and  called 
him  "  a  coarse,  vulgar,  immoral  man  "  ;  but  confessed  (in 
his  absence)  that  they  were  all  the  better  off  for  his  help. 
Ease  from  debt  she  had  never  known  ;  but  here  at  Wroote 
the  clouds  seemed  to  be  breaking.  Duns  had  been  fewer 
of  late.  With  her  poultry-yard  and  small  dairy  she  was 
earning  a  few  pounds,  and  this  gave  her  a  sense  of  help- 
fulness she  had  not  known  at  Epworth :  a  pound  saved 
may  be  a  pound  gained,  but  a  pound  earned  can  be  held 
in  the  hand,  and  the  touch  makes  a  wonderful  difference. 
The  girls  had  flung  themselves  heartily  into  the  farm- 
work  :  they  talked  of  it,  at  night,  around  the  kitchen 
hearth  (for  of  the  two  sitting-rooms  one  had  been  given 
up  to  their  father  for  his  library,  and  the  other  Hetty 
vowed  to  be  "too  grand  for  the  likes  of  dairy-women." 
Also  the  marsh-vapours  in  the  Isle  of  Axholme  can  be 
agueish  after  sunset,  even  in  summer,  and  they  found  the 


HETTY   WESLEY  59 

fire  a  comfort).  Hetty  had  described  these  rural  econo- 
mies in  a  long  letter  to  Samuel  at  Westminster,  and  been 
answered  by  an  '*  Heroick  Poem,"  pleasantly  facetious  : 

"  The  spacious  glebe  around  the  house 
Affords  full  pasture  to  the  cows, 
Whence  largely  milky  nectar  flows, 

O  sweet  and  cleanly  dairy  ! 
Unless  or  Moll,  or  Anne,  or  you, 
Your  duty  should  neglect  to  do. 
And  then  "ware  haunches  black  and  blue 

By  pinching  of  a  fairy," 

—  with  much  in  the  same  easy  vein  about  "  sows  and 
pigs  and  porkets,"  and  the  sisters'  housewifely  duties  : 

"  Or  lusty  Anne,  or  feeble  Moll, 
Sage  Pat  or  sober  Hetty." 

And  the  sisters  were  amused  by  the  lines  and  committed 
them  to  heart. 

They  had  learnt  of  the  pleasures  of  life  mainly  through 
books,  and  now  their  simple  enjoyment  was,  as  it  were, 
more  real  to  them  because  it  could  be  translated  into 
verse.  In  circumstances,  then,  they  were  happier  than 
they  had  been  for  many  years  :  nor  was  poverty  the  real 
reason  for  Hetty's  going  into  service  at  Kelstein  ;  since 
Emilia  had  been  fetched  home  from  Lincoln  (where  for 
five  years  she  had  been  earning  her  liveUhood  as  teacher 
in  a  boarding-school)  expressly  to  enjoy  the  family's 
easier  fortune,  and  with  a  promise  of  pleasant  company 
to  be  met  in  Bawtry,  Doncaster,  and  the  country  around 
Wroote. 

This  promise  had  not  been  fulfilled,  and  Emilia's  temper 


6o  HETTY   WESLEY 

had  soured  in  consequence.  Nor  had  the  Rector's  debts 
melted  at  the  rate  expected.  The  weight  of  them  still 
oppressed  him  and  all  the  household  :  but  Mrs.  Wesley 
knew  in  her  heart  that,  were  poverty  the  only  reason, 
Hetty  need  not  go.  Hetty  knew  it,  too,  and  rebelled. 
She  was  happy  at  Wroote  ;  happier  at  least  than  she 
would  be  at  Kelstein.  She  did  not  wish  to  be  selfish  : 
she  would  go,  if  one  of  the  sisters  must.  But  why  need 
any  of  them  go .'' 

She  asked  her  mother  this,  and  Mrs.  Wesley  fenced 
with  the  question  while  hardening  her  heart.  In  truth 
she  feared  what  might  happen  if  Hetty  stayed.  They 
had  made  some  new  acquaintances  at  Wroote  and  at 
Bawtry  there  was  a  lover,  a  young  lawyer  ...  a  person- 
able young  man,  reputed  to  be  clever  in  his  profession. 
Mrs.  Wesley  knew  nothing  to  his  discredit  .  .  .  and 
sure,  Hetty's  face  might  attract  any  lover.  So  her 
thoughts  ran,  without  blaming  the  girl,  whose  heart  she 
believed  to  be  engaged,  though  she  could  not  tell  how 
deeply.  But  the  Rector  must  be  considered,  and  he  had 
taken  an  instant  and  almost  frantic  dislike  for  the  youth. 
There  was  nothing  unusual  in  this:  for,  like  many  another 
uxorious  man  (with  all  his  faults  of  temper  he  was 
uxorious),  Mr.  Wesley  hated  that  any  one  should  offer 
love  to  his  daughters.  This  antipathy  of  his  had  been 
a  nuisance  for  ten  years  past;  since  the  girls  were, 
when  all  was  said,  honest  healthy  girls  with  an  instinct 
for  mating,  and  not  to  be  blamed  for  making  their  best 
of  the  suitors  which  Epworth  and  its  neighbourhood 
provided.     But  since  Sukey's  marriage  it  had  deepened 


HETTY   WESLEY  6l 

into  something  like  a  mania,  and  now,  in  Hetty's  case, 
flared  up  with  a  passion  incomprehensible  if  not  quite 
insane.  He  declared  his  hatred  of  lawyers  —  and  cer- 
tainly he  had  suffered  at  their  hands  :  he  forbade  the 
young  man  to  visit  the  house,  to  correspond  with  Hetty, 
even  to  see  her. 

Mrs.  Wesley  watched  her  daughter  and  was  troubled. 
The  Rector's  veto  had  been  effective  enough  once  or 
twice  with  Hetty's  sisters.  Emilia,  on  a  visit  with  her 
uncle  Matthew  in  London,  had  fallen  passionately  in  love 
with  a  young  Oxonian  named  Leybourne.  But  Sam's 
wife  had  discovered  something  to  his  discredit  and  had 
spoken  to  Sam,  and  Sam  to  the  Rector.  The  match 
was  broken  off,  and  Emilia  renounced  her  love,  though 
she  never  forgave  the  mischief-maker.  Patty  again  had 
formed  an  attachment  for  John  Romley,  who  had  been 
a  pupil  of  Sam's,  had  afterwards  graduated  at  Lincoln 
College,  Oxford,  and  was  now  the  ambitious  young 
master  of  the  Free  School  at  Epworth.  Again  the 
Rector  interfered,  and  Patty  sighed  and  renounced  her 
romance.  Would  Hetty,  too,  renounce  and  acquiesce .'' 
Mrs.  Wesley  doubted :  nay,  was  even  afraid.  Hetty 
alone  had  never  been  overawed  by  her  father,  had 
never  acknowledged  the  patria  potestas  with  all  its 
exorbitant  claims.  She  had  never  actually  revolted,  but 
she  defied,  somehow,  the  spell  he  had  cast  upon  the 
others:  and  somehow  —  here  was  the  marvel — Mrs. 
Wesley,  who  more  than  any  other  of  the  family  had 
yielded  to  the  illusion  and  fostered  it,  understood  Hetty 
the  better  for   her  independence.     The  others,  under 


62  HETTY   WESLEY 

various  kinds  of  pressure,  had  submitted :  but  here  was 
the  very  woman  she  might  have  been,  but  for  her  own 
submission !  And  she  feared  for  that  woman.  Hetty- 
must  leave  Wroote,  or  there  was  no  knowing  how  it 
might  end. 

"  Mother,  I  beHeve  you  are  afraid  of  what  I  may  do." 

Mrs.  Wesley,  incapable  of  a  lie  or  anything  resem- 
bling it,  bent  her  head.  *'  I  have  been  afraid,  once  or 
twice,"  she  said. 

"  So  you  send  me  away  ?  That  seems  to  me  neither 
very  brave  nor  very  wise.  Will  there  be  less  danger  at 
Kelstein .? " 

Her  mother  started.  "  Does  /le  know  of  your  going } 
You  don't  tell  me  he  means  to  visit  you  there .''" 

"  Forgive  me,  dearest  mother,  but  your  first  question 
is  a  little  foolish  —  eh  .?  "     Hetty  laughed  and  quoted  : 

"  But  if  she  whom  Love  doth  honour 
Be  conceal'd  from  the  day  — 
Set  a  thousand  guards  upon  her, 
Love  will  find  out  the  way." 

She  put  up  her  chin  defiantly. 

"I  wish,  child,  you  would  tell  me  if  —  if  this  is  much 
to  you,"  said  Mrs.  Wesley  wistfully,  with  a  sudden  crav- 
ing to  put  her  arms  around  her  daughter  and  have  her 
confidence. 

Hetty  hesitated  for  a  fatal  moment,  then  laughed 
again.  "  I  am  not  a  child  precisely ;  and  we  read  one 
another,  dear,  much  better  than  we  allow.  Your  second 
question  you  have  no  right  to  ask.  You  are  sending  me 
away  —  " 


HETTY   WESLEY  63 

"  No  right,  Hetty  ?  " 

"You  are  sending  me  away,"  Hetty  repeated,  and 
seemed  to  be  considering.  After  a  pause  she  added 
slowly:  "You  others  are  all  under  papa's  thumb,  and 
you  make  me  a  coward.  But  I  will  promise  you  this  "  — 
here  her  words  began  to  drag  —  "  and  to  strengthen  me 
no  less  than  to  ease  your  fears,  I  promise  it,  mother.  If 
the  worst  come  to  the  worst,  it  shall  not  be  at  Kelstein 
that  I  choose  it,  but  here  among  you  all.  I  think  you 
will  gain  little  by  sending  me  to  Kelstein,  mother :  but 
you  need  not  be  afraid  for  me  there." 

"You  speak  in  enigmas." 

"  And  my  tone,  you  would  say,  is  something  too  theat- 
rical for  your  taste  ?  Well,  well,  dear  mother,  'tis  the 
privilege  of  a  house  with  a  doom  upon  it  to  talk  tragedy  : 
for,  you  know,  Molly  declares  we  have  a  doom  upon  us, 
though  we  cannot  agree  what  'tis.  I  uphold  it  to  be  debt, 
or  papa's  tantrums,  or  perhaps  Old  Jeffrey ;  ^  but  she  will 
have  it  to  be  something  deeper,  and  that  one  day  we  shall 
awake  and  see  that  it  includes  all  three." 

"  It  appears  to  be  my  doom,"  said  Mrs.  Wesley,  her 
face  relaxing,  "  to  listen  to  a  deal  of  nonsense  from  my 
daughters." 

"  And  who's  to  blame,  dear  ?  You  chose  to  marry  at 
twenty,  and  here  you  have  a  daughter  unmarried  at 
seven  and  twenty.  Now  I  respect  and  love  you,  as  you 
well  know  :  but  every  now  and  then  reason  steps  in  and 
proves  to  me  that  I  am  seven  years  your  senior  —  which 
is  absurd,  and  the  absurder  for  the  grave  wise  face  you 

1  The  Wesley  Ghost. 


64  HETTY   WESLEY 

put  upon  it.  So  come  along,  sweet-and-twenty,  and  help 
me  pack  my  buskins."  Hetty  led  the  way  upstairs  hum- 
ming an  air  which  (though  her  mother  did  not  recognize 
it)  was  Purcell's  setting  of  a  song  in  "  Twelfth  Night "  : 

"  Journeys  end  in  lovers  meeting, 
Every  wise  man's  son  doth  know." 


VII 

ON  the  day  fixed,  and  at  nine  in  the  morning,  Dick 
Ellison,  who  had  promised  to  drive  Hetty  over  to 
Kelstein,  arrived  with  his  gig.  Sukey  accompanied  him, 
to  join  in  the  farewells  and  spend  a  few  hours  at  the 
parsonage  pending  his  return. 

Now  these  visits  of  Sukey's  were  a  trial  to  her  no  less 
than  to  her  mother  and  sisters.  She  knew  that  they  de- 
tested her  husband,  and  (what  was  worse)  she  had  enough 
of  the  Wesley  in  her  to  perceive  why  and  how :  never- 
theless, being  a  Wesley,  she  kept  a  steady  face  on  her 
pain.  Stung  at  times  to  echo  Dick's  sentiments  and 
opinions,  as  it  were  in  self-defence,  she  tried  to  soften 
them  down  and  present  them  in  a  form  at  least  tolerable 
to  her  family.  It  was  heroic,  but  uncomfortable ;  and 
they  set  aside  the  best  parlour  for  it. 

Sukey  would  have  preferred  the  kitchen.  In  person 
she  was  short  and  plump,  and  her  face  expressed  a  de- 
sire to  be  cheerful.  She  had  little  or  none  of  that  grace 
by  which  her  sisters  walked  in  the  commonest  cotton 
frocks  as  queens.  In  childhood  she  had  been  noted  for 
her  deshabille,  and  now  obediently  flaunted  her  hus- 
band's taste  in  bonnets. 

Her  headdress  to-day  had  a  dreadful  coquettishness. 
Dick  had  found  it  at  Lincoln  and  called  on  the  company 
F  65 


66  HETTY   WESLEY 

to  admire.  It  consisted  of  three  large  mock  water-lilies 
on  a  little  mat  of  muslin,  and  was  perched  on  her  piled 
hair  so  high  aloft  that  their  gaze,  as  they  scanned  it, 
seemed  to  pass  far  over  her  head.  She  longed  to  tear 
it  down,  cast  it  on  the  floor,  and  be  the  Sukey  they 
knew. 

The  plate  of  cake  and  biscuits  on  the  table  gave  the 
parlour  a  last  funereal  touch.  Dick  was  boisterously 
talkative.  The  others  scarcely  spoke.  At  length  Hetty, 
who  had  been  struggling  to  swallow  a  biscuit,  and  well- 
nigh  choking  over  it,  rose  abruptly,  kissed  her  mother, 
and  went  straight  to  her  father's  room. 

He  sat  at  his  writing-table,  busy  as  usual  with  his 
commentary  upon  the  Book  of  Job.  At  another  table 
by  the  window  Johnny  Whitelamb  bent  over  a  map, 
with  his  back  to  the  light.  He  glanced  up  as  she 
entered  :  she  could  not  well  read  his  eyes  for  the  shadow, 
and  perhaps  for  some  dimness  in  her  own :  but  he  rose, 
gathered  his  papers  together,  and  sHpped  from  the 
room. 

''  Papa,  Dick  Ellison  is  in  the  parlour." 

"  So  my  ears  inform  me." 

"  He  wishes  to  see  you." 

"  Then  you  may  take  him  my  compliments  and  assure 
him  that  he  will  not." 

"  But,  papa,  the  gig  is  at  the  door.  I  have  come  to 
say  good-by." 

'*  Ah,  in  that  case  I  will  step  out  to  the  door  and  see 
you  off ;  but  I  will  not  be  button-holed  by  Dick  Ellison." 
He  rose  and  stood  eying  her,  pinching  his  chin  between 


HETTY   WESLEY  6^ 

thumb  and  forefinger.     ''  You  have  something  to  say  to 
me,  I  suspect." 

"  I  am  going  to  Kelstein,"  Hetty  began  firmly.  "  I 
would  like  to  obey  you  there,  sir,  as  the  others  do  at 
home.  I  do  not  mean  outwardly :  but  to  feel,  while  I 
am  absent,  that  I  am  earning  —  "  She  paused  and  cast 
about  for  a  word. 

*'You  will  be  earning,  of  course.  There  is  always 
satisfaction  in  that." 

"  I  am  not  thinking  of  money." 

"  Of  my  approval,  then  }  Your  employer,  Mr.  Grant- 
ham, is  an  honest  gentleman  :  I  shall  trust  his  report  of 
you." 

"  Papa,  I  came  to  beg  you  for  more  than  that.  Will 
you  not  let  me  feel  that  I  am  earning  something  more  t 
—  that  if,  as  time  goes  on,  my  conduct  pleases  you,  you 
will  be  more  disposed  to  consider  —  to  grant  me  —  " 

"  Mehetabel ! " 

"  I  love  him,  papa  !     I  cannot  help  it.     Sir  — !  " 

She  put  out  both  hands  to  him,  her  eyes  welling.  But 
he  had  turned  sharply  away  from  her  cry,  and  strode 
across  the  room  in  his  irritation.  Her  hands  fell,  and 
one  caught  at  the  edge  of  the  table  for  support  while 
she  leaned,  bowing  her  head. 

He  came  abruptly  back.  *'  Are  you  aware,  Meheta- 
bel, that  you  have  proposed  a  bargain  to  me  t  I  do  not 
bargain  with  my  children  :  I  expect  obedience.  Nor  as 
a  father  am  I  obliged  to  give  my  reasons.  But  since 
you  are  leaving  us,  and  I  would  not  dismiss  you  harshly, 
let  me  say  that  I  have  studied  this  man  for  whom  you 


68  HETTY   WESLEY 

avow  a  fondness ;  and  apart  from  his  calling  —  which  I 
detest  —  I  find  him  vain,  foppish,  insincere.  He  has 
levitas  with  levitas :  I  believe  his  heart  to  be  as  shallow 
as  his  head.  I  know  him  to  be  no  fit  mate  for  one  of 
my  daughters ;  least  of  all  for  you  who  have  gifts  above 
your  sisters  —  gifts  which  I  have  recognized  and  tried 
to  improve.  Child,  summon  your  pride  to  you,  and  let 
it  help  your  obedience."  He  broke  off  and  gazed  out  of 
window.  "  If,"  said  he  more  softly,  "  our  fate  be  not 
offered  to  us,  we  must  make  it.  If,  while  our  true  fate 
delays,  there  come  to  us  unworthy  phantoms  simulating 
it,  we  should  test  them ;  lest  impatient  we  run  to  em- 
brace vanity,  and  betray,  not  our  hopes  alone,  but  the 
purpose  God  had  in  mind  for  us  from  the  beginning." 

Hetty  looked  up.  She  might  have  thought  that  she 
was  twenty-seven,  and  asked  herself  how  long  was  it 
likely  to  be  before  a  prince  came  across  those  dreary 
fields  to  the  thatched  parsonage,  seeking  her.  But  her 
heart  was  full  of  the  man  she  loved,  and  she  thought 
only  that  her  father  did  him  bitter  injustice. 

She  shivered  and  lifted  her  face.  "  Good-by,  papa," 
she  said  coldly. 

He  kissed  her  on  the  cheek,  and  took  a  step  to  follow 
her  to  the  door ;  but  thought  better  of  it  and  returned  to 
the  window.  He  heard  the  door  close  upon  her,  and 
five  minutes  later  saw  her  whisked  away  in  the  gig  by 
Dick  Ellison's  side. 


VIII 

HE  continued  to  stare  out  of  window  long  after  the 
gig  had  disappeared  over  the  low  horizon  :  a 
small,  nervous,  indomitable  figure  of  a  man  close  upon 
his  sixty-second  birthday,  standing  for  a  while  with  his 
back  turned  upon  his  unwieldy  manuscripts  and  his  jaw 
thrust  forward  obstinately  as  he  surveyed  the  blank 
landscape.  He  had  the  scholar's  stoop,  but  this  thrust 
of  the  jaw  was  habitual  and  lifted  his  face  at  an  angle 
which  gave  an  "up-sighted"  expression  to  his  small  eyes, 
set  somewhat  closely  together  above  a  long  straight 
nose.  Nose  and  eyes  announced  obstinacy,  and  the  eyes, 
quick  and  fiery,  warned  you  that  it  was  of  the  aggres- 
sive kind  which  not  only  holds  to  its  purpose,  but  never 
ceases  nagging  until  it  be  attained.  In  build  he  was 
lean  and  wiry  :  in  carriage  amazingly  dignified  for  one 
who  (to  be  precise)  stood  but  5  feet  si  inches  high. 

His  father  had  been  a  non-juring  clergyman,  one  of 
the  many  ejected  from  their  livings  on  St.  Bartholomew's 
Day,  1662  ;  and  he  himself  had  been  educated  as  a  Non- 
conformist at  Mr.  Morton's  famous  academy  on  Newing- 
ton  Green,  where  Daniel  Defoe  had  preceded  him  as  a 
pupil,  and  where  he  had  heard  John  Bunyan  preach.  At 
the  conclusion  of  his  training  there  he  was  pitched  on  to 
answer  some  pamphlets  levelled  against  the  Dissenters, 

69 


70  HETTY   WESLEY 

and  this  set  him  on  a  course  of  reading  which  pro- 
duced an  effect  he  was  far  from  intending:  for  instead  of 
writing  the  answer  he  determined  to  renounce  Dissent 
and  attach  himself  to  the  Estabhshed  Church.  He  dwelt 
at  that  time  with  his  mother  and  an  old  aunt,  themselves 
ardent  Dissenters,  to  whom  he  could  not  tell  his  design. 
So  he  arose  before  daybreak  one  morning,  tramped  sixty 
miles  to  Oxford,  and  entered  himself  at  Exeter  College 
as  a  poor  scholar.     This  was  in  August,  1683. 

He  took  up  his  residence  in  Oxford  with  forty-five 
shillings  in  his  pocket.  He  studied  there  five  years,  and 
during  that  time  received  from  his  family  and  friends  just 
five  shillings  ;  obtained  his  Bachelor's  degree,  and  de- 
parted seven  pounds  and  fifteen  shillings  richer  than  when 
he  entered  the  University.  The  winter  of  1683  was  a 
hard  beginning  for  a  scholar  too  poor  to  buy  fuel,  the  cold 
being  so  severe  in  the  Thames  valley  that  coaches  plied 
as  freely  on  the  river  from  the  Temple  to  Westminster  as 
if  they  had  gone  upon  the  land.  Yet ''  I  tarried,"  he  after- 
wards wrote,  "  in  Exeter  College,  though  I  met  with  some 
hardships  I  had  before  been  unacquainted  with,  till  I  was 
of  standing  sufficient  to  take  my  Bachelor's  degree;  and 
not  being  able  to  subsist  there  afterwards,  I  came  to 
London  during  the  time  of  my  Lord  Bishop  of  London's 
suspension  by  the  High  Commission,  and  was  instituted 
into  deacon's  orders  by  my  Lord  Bishop  of  Rochester, 
at  his  palace  at  Bromley,  August  7th,  1688." 

He  had  maintained  himself  by  instructing  wealthier 
undergraduates  and  writing  their  exercises  for  them  (as 
a  servitor  he  had   to  black  their  boots  and   run   their 


HETTY   WESLEY  7I 

errands);  also  by  scribbling  for  John  Dunton,  the  famous 
London  bookseller,  whose  acquaintance  he  had  made 
during  his  last  year  at  Mr.  Morton's.  With  all  this  he 
found  time  and  the  will  to  be  charitable,  and  had  visited 
the  poor  creatures  imprisoned  in  the  Castle  at  Oxford  — 
many  for  debt.  He  lived  to  take  the  measure  of  this 
kindness,  and  to  see  it  repeated  by  his  sons. 

"  Maggots:  or  Poems  on  Several  Subjects  never  before 
Handled"  was  no  very  marketable  book  of  rhymes.  Yet 
it  served  its  purpose  and  helped  him,  through  Dunton, 
to  become  acquainted  with  a  few  men  of  letters  and 
learning.  He  had  something  better,  too,  to  cheer  his 
start  in  London.  Dunton  in  1682  had  married  Elizabeth, 
one  of  the  many  daughters  of  Dr.  Samuel  Annesley,  the 
famous  Dissenter,  then  preaching  at  a  Nonconformist 
church  which  he  had  opened  in  Little  St.  Helen's,  Bish- 
opsgate.  Young  Wesley,  a  student  at  Newington  Green, 
had  been  present  at  the  wedding,  with  a  copy  of  verses 
in  his  pocket :  and  there,  in  a  corner  of  the  Doctor's 
gloomy  house  in  Spital  Yard,  he  came  on  the  Doctor's 
youngest  daughter,  a  slight  girl  of  fourteen,  seated  and 
watching  the  guests. 

She  was  but  a  child,  and  just  then  an  unhappy  one, 
though  with  no  childish  trouble.  Minds  ripened  early  in 
Annesley  House,  where  scholars  and  divines  resorted  to 
discuss  the  battle  raging  between  Church  and  Dissent. 
Susanna  Annesley  had  listened  and  brooded  upon  what 
she  heard  ;  and  now  her  convictions  troubled  her,  for  she 
saw,  or  thought  she  saw,  the  Church  to  be  in  the  right, 
and  herself  an  alien  in  her  father's  house,  secretly  re- 


72  HETTY   WESLEY 

bellious  against  those  she  loved  and  preparing  to  disap- 
point them  cruelly.  She  knew  her  father's  beliefs  to  be 
as  strong  and  deep  as  they  were  temperately  expressed. 

So  it  happened  that  Samuel  Wesley,  halting  awk- 
wardly (as  a  hobbledehoy  will)  before  this  slip  of  a  girl 
and  stammering  some  words  meant  to  comfort  her  for 
losing  her  sister,  presently  found  himself  answering 
strange  questions,  staring  into  young  eyes  which  had 
somehow  surprised  his  own  doubts  of  Dissent,  and 
beyond  them  into  a  mind  which  had  come  to  its  own 
decision  and  quietly,  firmly,  invited  him  to  follow.  It 
startled  him  so  that  love  dawned  at  the  same  moment 
with  a  lesser  shock.  He  seated  himself  on  the  window 
cushion  beside  her,  and  after  this  they  talked  a  very  little, 
but  watched  the  guests,  feeling  like  two  conspirators  in 
the  crowd,  feehng  also  that  the  world  was  suddenly 
changed  for  them  both. 

And  thus  it  came  about  that  Samuel  Wesley  dropped 
his  pen,  packed  his  books,  and  tramped  off  to  Oxford. 
He  was  back  again  now,  after  five  years,  with  his  de- 
gree, but  no  money  as  yet  to  marry  on.  He  started  with 
a  curacy  at  £28  a  year;  was  appointed  chaplain  on 
board  a  man-of-war,  when  his  income  rose  to  £yo ;  and 
began  an  epic  poem  on  the  Life  of  Christ,  scribbling 
(since  he  had  leisure)  at  the  rate  of  two  hundred  couplets 
a  day ;  but  soon  returned  to  London,  where  he  obtained 
a  second  curacy  and  £so  a  year.  His  pen  earned  him 
another  £s^,  and  on  this  he  decided  to  marry. 

Between  him  and  Susanna  Annesley  there  had  been 
little  talk  of  love,  but  no  doubt  at  all.     She  was  now  close 


HETTY    WESLEY  73 

upon  twenty,  and  ready  to  marry  him  when  he  named 
the  day.  So  married  they  were  in  1689.  Less  than  ayear 
later  their  first  child,  Samuel,  was  born  in  their  London 
lodgings,  and  soon  after  came  an  offer  from  the  Marquis 
of  Normanby  of  the  living  of  South  Ormsby  in  Lincoln- 
shire. To  South  Ormsby  accordingly  they  journeyed  on 
Midsummer  Day,  1690,  and  there  resided  until  the  spring 
of  1697  in  a  vicarage  little  better  than  a  mud-built  hut. 
There  Mrs.  Wesley  bare  Emilia,  Susannah,  and  Molly, 
besides  other  children  who  died  in  infancy,  and  there  the 
Rector  put  forth  his  "  Life  of  our  Blessed  Lord  and 
Saviour  Jesus  Christ.  A  heroic  poem  in  ten  books,"  be- 
sides such  trifles  as  "The  Young  Student's  Library  :  con- 
taining Extracts  and  Abridgments  of  the  most  Valuable 
Books  printed  in  England  and  in  the  Foreign  Journals 
from  the  year  '65  to  this  time.  To  which  is  added  A 
New  Essay  upon  all  sorts  of  Learning." 

Close  by  the  parish  church  stood  the  Hall,  the  great 
house  of  the  Lord  Marquis  of  Normanby  who  in  1694 
made  Mr.  Wesley  his  domestic  chaplain.  The  Marquis 
was  a  rake,  and  he  and  his  mistresses  gave  the  poor 
clergyman  many  searchings  of  heart.  There  was  one 
who  took  a  fancy  to  Mrs.  Wesley  and  would  be  inti- 
mate with  her.  Coming  home  one  day  and  finding  this 
visitor  seated  with  his  wife,  Mr.  Wesley  went  up  to  her, 
took  her  by  the  hand  and  very  fairly  handed  her  out. 
It  cost  him  his  living :  but  the  Marquis,  being  what  is 
called  a  good  fellow  in  the  main,  bore  him  no  grudge ; 
nay,  rather  liked  his  spirit,  and  afterwards  showed  him- 
self a  good  friend  to  the  amount  of  twenty  guineas,  to 


74 


HETTY   WESLEY 


which  the  Marchioness  (but  this  is    more   explicable) 
added  five  from  her  own  purse. 

By  good  fortune  the  living  of  Epworth  fell  vacant 
just  then,  and  in  accordance  with  some  wish  or  prom- 
ise of  the  late  Queen  Mary,  to  whom  he  had  dedicated 
his  "  Life  of  Christ,"  Mr.  Wesley  was  presented  to  it, 
a  decent  preferment,  worth  about  ;^200  a  year  in  the 
currency  of  those  times.  But  by  this  time  his  family 
was  large ;  he  was  in  debt ;  the  fees  to  be  paid  before 
taking  up  the  living  ate  further  into  his  credit ;  a  larger 
house  had  to  be  maintained,  with  three  acres  of  garden 
and  farm-buildings ;  and  his  new  parishioners  hated  his 
politics  and  made  Hfe  as  miserable  for  him  as  they 
could.  They  were  savage  fighters,  but  they  found 
their  match.  In  1702  they  set  fire  secretly  to  the  par- 
sonage-house, and  burned  down  two-thirds  of  it.  In 
the  winter  of  1704  they  destroyed  a  great  part  of 
his  crop  of  flax.  This  was  the  year  of  Blenheim,  and 
upon  news  of  the  victory  Mr.  Wesley  sat  down  to  com- 
memorate it  in  heroic  verse.  The  poem  (published  in 
the  early  days  of  1705),  if  inferior  to  Mr.  Addison's  on 
the  same  occasion,  ran  to  five  hundred  and  ninety-four 
lines,  and  contained  compliments  enough  to  please  the 
great  Duke  of  Marlborough,  who  sent  for  its  author,  re- 
warded him  with  the  chaplaincy  of  Colonel  Lepelle's 
regiment,  and  promised  him  a  prebend's  stall.  The  Dis- 
senters, who  (with  some  excuse,  perhaps)  looked  upon 
Mr.  Wesley  as  that  worst  of  foes,  a  deserter  from  their 
own  ranks,  using  their  influence  in  Parliament  and  at 
Court,  had  him  deprived  of  his  regiment  and  denied  the 


HETTY   WESLEY  75 

Stall.  In  April  Queen  Anne  dissolved  Parliament,  and 
in  May  the  late  Tory  members  for  the  county  of  Lincoln, 
Sir  John  Thorold  and  the  Dymoke  who  then  held — • 
as  his  descendant  holds  to-day  —  the  dignity  of  Royal 
Champion,  fought  and  lost  an  election  with  the  Whig 
candidates,  Colonel  Whichcott  and  Mr.  Albert  Bertie. 
The  Dissenters  of  course  supported  these ;  and  Mr. 
Wesley,  scorning  insults  and  worse,  the  unpopular  side  : 
with  what  results  we  may  read  in  these  extracts  from 
letters  to  the  Archbishop  of  York. 

"Ep worth,  June  7th,  1705. 

"I  went  to  Lincoln  on  Tuesday  night,  May  29th,  and  the  election 
began  on  Wednesday,  30th.  A  great  part  of  the  night  our  Isle 
people  kept  drumming,  shouting,  and  firing  of  pistols  and  guns 
under  the  window  where  my  wife  lay,  who  had  been  brought  to  bed 
not  three  weeks.  I  had  put  the  child  to  nurse  over  against  my  own 
house ;  the  noise  kept  his  nurse  waking  till  one  or  two  in  the  morn- 
ing. Then  they  left  off,  and  the  nurse  being  heavy  with  sleep,  over- 
laid the  child.  She  waked,  and  finding  it  dead,  ran  over  with  it  to 
my  house  almost  distracted,  and  calling  my  servants,  threw  it  into 
their  arms.  They,  as  wise  as  she,  ran  up  wdth  it  to  my  wife,  and, 
before  she  was  well  awake,  threw  it  cold  and  dead  into  hers.  She 
composed  herself  as  well  as  she  could,  and  that  day  got  it  buried. 

"  A  clergyman  met  me  in  the  castle  yard  and  told  me  to  with- 
draw, for  the  Isle  men  intended  me  a  mischief.  Another  told  me  he 
had  heard  near  tw^enty  of  them  say,  '  if  they  got  me  in  the  castle 
yard,  they  would  squeeze  my  guts  out.'  My  servant  had  the  same 
advice.     I  went  by  Gainsbro',  and  God  preserved  me. 

"  When  they  knew  I  was  got  home,  they  sent  the  drum  and  mob, 
with  guns,  etc.,  as  usual,  to  compliment  me  till  after  midnight.  One 
of  them,  passing  by  on  Friday  evening  and  seeing  my  children  in 
the  yard,  cried  out,  ^O  ye  devils!     We  will  come  and  turn  ye  all 


76  HETTY   WESLEY 

out  of  doors  a-begging  shortly.'      God  convert  them,  and  forgive 
them  ! 

"All  this,  thank  God,  does  not  in  the  least  sink  my  wife's  spirits. 
For  my  own,  I  feel  them  disturbed  and  disordered.   .  .   ." 

The  rebuilding  of  the  parsonage  and  some  unhappy 
essays  in  farming  his  glebe  had  run  the  Rector  still  far- 
ther in  debt :  and  now,  not  satisfied  with  winning  the 
election,  his  enemies  struck  at  him  privily.  His  next 
letter  is  dated  not  three  weeks  later  from  the  debtor's 

ward  in  Lincoln.  ^^  _ .      ,    ^    ,,     t  .u 

"Lmcoln  Castle,  June  25th,  1705. 

"My  Lord,  —  Now  I  am  at  rest,  for  I  am  come  to  the  haven 
where  I  have  long  expected  to  be.  On  Friday  last  (June  23rd), 
when  I  had  been,  in  christening  a  child,  at  Epworth,  I  was  arrested 
in  my  churchyard  by  one  who  had  been  my  servant,  and  gathered 
my  tithe  last  year,  at  the  suit  of  one  of  Mr.  Whichcott's  relations  and 
zealous  friends  (Mr.  Finder)  according  to  their  promise  when  they 
were  in  the  Isle  before  the  election.  The  sum  was  not  thirty 
pounds,  but  it  was  as  good  as  five  hundred.  Now  they  knew  the 
burning  of  my  flax,  my  London  journey,  and  their  throwing  me  out 
of  my  regiment  had  both  sunk  my  credit  and  exhausted  my  money. 
My  adversary  was  sent  to  when  I  was  on  the  road,  to  meet  me,  that 
I  might  make  some  proposals  to  him.  But  all  his  answer  was  that 
'  I  must  immediately  pay  the  whole  sum,  or  go  to  prison.'  Thither 
I  went,  with  no  great  concern  to  myself:  and  find  much  more 
civility  and  satisfaction  here  than  m  brevibiis  gayris  of  my  own 
Epworth.  I  thank  God,  my  wife  was  pretty  well  recovered  and 
churched  some  days  before  I  was  taken  from  her ;  and  hope  she'll  be 
able  to  look  to  my  family,  if  they  don't  turn  them  out  of  doors  as 
they  have  often  threatened  to  do.  One  of  my  biggest  concerns  was 
my  being  forced  to  leave  my  poor  lambs  in  the  midst  of  so  many 
wolves.  But  the  great  Shepherd  is  able  to  provide  for  them  and  to 
preserve  them.  My  wife  bears  it  with  that  courage  which  becomes 
her,  and  which  I  expected  from  her. 


HETTY   WESLEY  yj 

"  I  don't  despair  of  doing  some  good  here  (and  so  I  sha'n't  quite 
lose  tlie  end  of  living),  and  it  may  be,  do  more  in  this  new  parish 
than  in  my  old  one  :  for  I  have  leave  to  read  prayers  every  morning 
and  afternoon  here  in  the  prison,  and  to  preach  once  a  Sunday, 
which  I  choose  to  do  in  the  afternoon  when  there  is  no  sermon  at 
the  minster.  And  Fm  getting  acquainted  with  my  brother  jail-birds 
as  fast  as  I  can  :  and  shall  write  to  London  next  post,  to  the  Society 
for  propagating  Christian  Knowledge,  who,  I  hope,  will  send  me 
some  books  to  distribute  among  them.  .  .  .■" 

The  next  letter,  dated  from  prison  on  September  I2th, 
proves  that  he  had  reasons  only  too  good  to  be  fearful. 

"  The  other  matter  is  concerning  the  stabbing  of  my  cows  in  the 
night  since  I  came  hither,  but  a  few  weeks  ago ;  and  endeavouring 
thereby  to  starve  my  forlorn  family  in  my  absence ;  my  cows  being 
all  dried  by  it,  which  was  their  chief  subsistence ;  though  I  hope 
they  had  not  the  power  to  kill  any  of  them  outright.  .  .  . 

"  The  same  night  the  iron  latch  of  my  door  was  twined  off,  and 
the  wood  hacked  in  order  to  shoot  back  the  lock,  which  nobody 
will  think  was  with  an  intention  to  rob  my  family.  My  house-dog, 
who  made  a  huge  noise  within  doors,  was  sufficiently  punished  for 
his  want  of  politics  and  jnoderation^  for  the  next  day  but  one  his  leg 
was  almost  chopped  off  by  an  unknown  hand.  'Tis  not  every  one 
could  bear  these  things  ;  but,  I  bless  God,  my  wife  is  less  concerned 
with  suffering  them  than  I  am  in  the  writing,  or  than  I  believe  your 
Grace  will  be  in  reading  them.  .  .  .  Oh,  my  lord  !  I  once  more 
repeat  it,  that  I  shall  some  time  have  a  more  equal  Judge  than  any 
in  this  world. 

"  Most  of  my  friends  advise  me  to  leave  Epworth,  if  e'er  I  should 
get  from  hence.  I  confess  I  am  not  of  that  mind,  because  I  may 
yet  do  good  there ;  and  'tis  like  a  coward  to  desert  my  post  because 
the  enemy  fire  thick  upon  me.  They  have  only  wounded  me  yet, 
and,  I  believe,  catiH  kill  me.  I  hope  to  be  home  by  Xmass.  God 
help  my  poor  family!  .  .  ." 


78  HETTY   WESLEY 

By  the  end  of  the  year  (the  Archbishop  and  other 
friends  assisting)  a  good  part  of  his  debts  had  been  paid 
and  Mr.  Wesley  was  at  home  again.  From  Epworth  he 
refused  to  budge ;  and  there,  for  three  years  and  more, 
the  rage  of  his  enemies  slumbered  and  his  affairs  grew 
easier.  John  (if  we  do  not  count  the  poor  infant  over- 
laid) had  been  the  last  child  born  before  his  imprison- 
ment. Now  arrived  Patty,  in  the  autumn  of  1706,  and 
Charles,  in  December,  1707.  A  third  was  expected,  and 
shortly,  when  in  the  night  of  February  9th,  1709,  the 
parsonage  took  fire  again  and  burned  to  the  ground  in 
fifteen  minutes. 

"  On  Wednesday  last,  at  half  an  hour  after  eleven  at  night,  in  a 
quarter  of  an  hour's  thue  or  less,  my  house  at  Epworth  was  burned 
down  to  the  ground  —  I  hope  by  accident ;  but  God  knows  all.  We 
had  been  brewing,  but  had  done  all ;  every  spark  of  fire  quenched 
befofe  five  o'clock  that  evening  —  at  least  six  hours  before  the  house 
was  on  fire.  Perhaps  the  chimney  above  might  take  fire  (though  it 
had  been  swept  not  long  since)  and  break  through  into  the  thatch. 
Yet  it  is  strange  I  should  neither  see  nor  smell  anything  of  it,  having 
been  in  my  study  in  that  part  of  the  house  till  above  half  an  hour 
after  ten.  Then  I  locked  the  doors  of  that  part  of  the  house  where 
my  wheat  and  other  corn  lay,  and  went  to  bed. 

"  The  servants  had  not  been  in  bed  a  quarter  of  an  hour  when  the 
fire  began.  My  wife  being  near  her  time,  and  very  weak,  I  lay  in 
the  next  chamber.  A  little  after  eleven  I  heard  ^  Fire! '  cried  in  the 
street,  next  to  which  I  lay.  If  I  had  been  in  my  own  chamber,  as 
usual,  we  had  all  been  lost.i  I  threw  myself  out  of  bed,  got  on  my 
waistcoat  and  nightgown,  and  looked  out  of  window  ;  saw  the  reflec- 

1  But  Hetty,  then  aged  eleven,  was  already  running  to  warn  him.  She 
slept  in  a  little  garret-room  next  to  the  corn-chamber,  and  had  been 
awakened  by  a  lump  of  the  burning  thatch  falling  on  the  bed  by  her  feet. 


HETTY    WESLEY  79 

tion  of  the  flame,  but  knew  not  where  it  was  ;  ran  to  my  wife's  cham- 
ber with  one  stocking  on  and  my  breeches  in  my  hand ;  would  have 
broken  open  the  door,  which  was  bolted  within,  but  could  not.  My 
two  eldest  children  were  with  her.i  They  rose,  and  ran  towards  the 
staircase,  to  raise  the  rest  of  the  house.  There  I  saw  it  was  my  own 
house,  all  in  a  light  blaze,  and  nothing  but  a  door  between  the  flame 
and  the  staircase. 

"  I  ran  back  to  my  wife,  who  by  this  time  had  got  out  of  bed, 
naked,  and  opened  the  door.  I  bade  her  fly  for  her  life.  We  had 
a  little  silver  and  some  gold  —  about  £iq.  She  would  have  stayed 
for  it,  but  I  pushed  her  out ;  got  her  and  my  two  eldest  children 
downstairs  (where  two  of  the  ser\-ants  were  now^  got),  and  asked  for 
the  keys.  They  knew  nothing  of  them.  I  ran  upstairs  and  found 
them,  came  down,  and  opened  the  street  door.  The  thatch  was 
fallen  in  all  on  fire.  The  north-east  wind  drove  all  the  sheets  of 
flame  in  my  face,  as  if  reverberated  in  a  lamp.  I  got  twice  to  the 
steps  and  was  drove  down  again.  I  ran  to  the  garden  door  and 
opened  it.  The  fire  there  was  more  moderate.  I  bade  them  all 
follow,  but  found  only  two  with  me,  and  the  maid  with  another  ^  in 
her  arms  that  cannot  go  ;  but  all  naked.  I  ran  with  them  to  an  out- 
house in  the  garden,  out  of  the  reach  of  the  flames ;  put  the  least  in 
the  other's  lap ;  ^  and  not  finding  my  wife  follow  me,  ran  back  into 
the  house  to  seek  her,  but  could  not  find  her.  The  ser\'ants  and 
two  of  the  children  were  got  out  at  the  window.  In  the  kitchen  I 
found  my  eldest  daughter,  naked,  and  asked  her  for  her  mother. 
She  could  not  tell  me  where  she  was.  I  took  her  up  and  carried 
her  to  the  rest  in  the  garden ;  came  in  the  second  time  and  ran  up- 
stairs, the  flame  breaking  through  the  wall  at  the  staircase  ;  thought 
all  my  children  were  safe,  and  hoped  my  wife  was  some  way  got 
out.  I  then  remembered  my  books,  and  felt  in  my  pocket  for  the 
key  of  the  chamber  which  led  to  my  study.  I  could  not  find  the 
key,  though  I  searched  a  second  time.  Had  I  opened  that  door,  I 
must  have  perished. 

1  Emilia  and  Sukey :  Sam  was  away  at  Westminster. 

2  Charles.  8  Sukey  and  Patty. 


8o  HETTY   WESLEY 

"  I  ran  down  and  went  to  my  children  in  the  garden,  to  help  them 
over  the  wall.  When  I  was  without,  I  heard  one  of  my  poor  lambs, 
left  still  above-stairs,  about  six  years  old,  cry  out,  dismally,  '  Help 
me ! '  I  ran  in  again,  to  go  upstairs,  but  the  staircase  was  now  all 
afire.  I  tried  to  force  up  through  it  a  second  time,  holding  my 
breeches  over  my  head,  but  the  stream  of  fire  beat  me  down.  I 
thought  I  had  done  my  duty ;  went  out  of  the  house  to  that  part  of 
my  family  I  had  saved,  in  the  garden,  with  the  killing  cry  of  my 
child  in  my  ears.  I  made  them  all  kneel  down,  and  we  prayed  to 
God  to  receive  his  soul. 

"  I  tried  to  break  down  the  pales,  and  get  my  children  over  into 
the  street,  but  could  not ;  then  went  under  the  flame  and  got  them 
over  the  wall.  Now  I  put  on  my  breeches  and  leaped  after  them. 
One  of  my  maidservants  that  had  brought  out  the  least  child,  got 
out  much  at  the  same  time.  She  was  saluted  with  a  hearty  curse  by 
one  of  the  neighbours,  and  told  that  we  had  fired  the  house  ourselves, 
the  second  time,  on  purpose  !  I  ran  about  inquiring  for  my  wife 
and  other  children ;  met  the  chief  man  and  chief  constable  of  the 
town  going  from  my  house,  not  towards  it  to  help  me.  I  took  him 
by  the  hand  and  said, '  God's  will  be  done  ! '  His  answer  was, '  Will 
you  never  have  done  your  tricks  ?  You  fired  your  house  once 
before ;  did  you  not  get  enough  by  it  then,  that  you  have  done  it 
again  ? '  This  was  cold  comfort.  I  said,  ^  God  forgive  you  !  I 
find  you  are  chief  man  still.'  But  I  had  a  little  better  soon  after, 
hearing  that  my  wife  was  saved ;  and  then  I  fell  on  mother  earth 
and  blessed  God. 

"  I  went  to  her.  She  was  alive,  and  could  just  speak.  She  thought 
I  had  perished,  and  so  did  all  the  rest,  not  having  seen  me  nor  any 
share  of  eight  children  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour;  and  by  this  time 
all  the  chambers  and  everything  was  consumed  to  ashes,  for  the  fire 
was  stronger  than  a  furnace,  the  violent  wind  beating  it  down  on  the 
house.  She  told  me  afterwards  how  she  escaped.  When  I  went  first 
to  open  the  back-door,  she  endeavoured  to  force  through  the  fire  at 
the  fore-door,  but  was  struck  back  twice  to  the  ground.  She  thought 
to  have  died  there,  but  prayed  to  Christ  to  help  her.     She  found  new 


HETTY   WESLEY  8 1 

strength,  got  up  alone  and  waded  through  two  or  three  yards  of 
flame,  the  fire  on  the  ground  being  up  to  her  knees.  She  had  nothing 
on  but  her  shoes  and  a  wrapping-gown,  and  one  coat  on  her  arm. 
This  she  wrapped  about  her  breast,  and  got  through  safe  into  the 
yard,  but  no  soul  yet  to  help  her.  She  never  looked  up  or  spake  till 
I  came  ;  only  when  they  brought  her  last  child  to  her,  bade  them  lay 
it  on  the  bed.  This  was  the  lad  whom  I  heard  cry  in  the  house,  but 
God  saved  him  almost  by  a  miracle.  He  only  was  forgot  by  the 
servants,  in  the  hurry.  He  ran  to  the  window  towards  the  yard, 
stood  upon  a  chair  and  cried  for  help.  There  were  now  a  few  people 
gathered,  one  of  whom,  who  loves  me,  helped  up  another  to  the 
window.  The  child  seeing  a  man  come  into  the  window,  was  fright- 
ened, and  ran  away  to  get  to  his  mother's  chamber.  He  could  not 
open  the  door,  so  ran  back  again.  The  man  was  fallen  down  from 
the  window,  and  all  the  bed  and  hangings  in  the  room  where  he  was 
were  blazing.  They  held  up  the  man  a  second  time,  and  poor 
Jacky  leaped  into  his  arms  and  was  saved.  I  could  not  believe  it 
till  I  had  kissed  him  two  or  three  times.  My  wife  then  said  unto 
me,  ^  Are  your  books  safe  ? '  I  told  her  it  was  not  much,  now  she  and 
all  the  rest  were  preserved.  .   .  . 

"  Mr.  Smith  of  Gainsborough,  and  others,  have  sent  for  some  of 
my  children.  ...  I  want  nothing,  having  above  half  my  barley 
saved  in  my  barns  unthreshed.  I  had  finished  my  alterations  in  the 
'  Life  of  Christ  ^  a  little  while  since,  and  transcribed  three  copies  of 
it.     But  all  is  lost.     God  be  praised! 

"  I  hope  my  wife  will  recover,  and  not  miscarry,  but  God  will  give 
me  my  nineteenth  child.  She  has  burnt  her  legs,  but  they  mend. 
When  I  came  to  her,  her  lips  were  black.  I  did  not  know  her.  Some 
of  the  children  are  a  little  burnt,  but  not  hurt  or  disfigured.  I  only 
got  a  small  blister  on  my  hand.  The  neighbours  send  us  clothes, 
for  it  is  cold  without  them." 

The  child  (Kezzy)  was  born  and  lived.  The  Rectory 
was  rebuilt  within  a  year,  at  a  cost  of  ;£400.  The  day 
after  the  fire,  as  he  groped  among  the  ruins  in  the  garden, 

G 


82  HETTY   WESLEY 

Mr.  Wesley  had  picked  up  a  torn  leaf  of  his  Polyglot 
Bible,  on  which  these  words  alone  were  legible :    Vade  ; 
vende  omnia  quot  habes  ;  et  attolle  cnicem,  et  sequere  me. 
He  had  come  to  Epworth  a  poor  man :  and  now,  after 
fifteen  years,  he  stood  as  poor  as  then ;  poorer,  perhaps. 
He  had  served  his  parishioners  only  to  earn  their  detesta- 
tion.    But  he  stood  unbeaten ;  and  as  he  stared  out  of 
his  window  there  gripped  him  —  not  for  the  first  time  —  a 
fierce  ironical  affection  for  the  hard  landscape,  the  fields 
of  his  striving,  even  the  folk  who  had  proved  such  good 
haters.      Thonis  also  and  thistles  shall  it  bring  forth  to 
thee  ;  and  thou  shalt  eat  the  herb  of  the  field — ay,  and 
learn  to  relish  it  as  no  other  food.     In  the  sweat  of  thy 
face  shalt  thou  eat  bread,  till  thou  return  unto  the  ground. 
Ah,  but  to  go  and  surrender  that  ground  to  others  — 
there  lay  the  sting !     With  him,  as  with  many  another 
true  man  disappointed  in  his  fate,  his  hopes  passed  from 
himself  to  fasten  the  more  eagerly  on  his    sons.     He 
wanted  them  to  be  great  and  eminent  soldiers  of  Christ, 
and  he  divined  already  that,  if  for  one  above  the  others, 
this  eminence  was  reserved  for  John.    But  he  wanted  also 
a  son  of  his  loins  to  succeed  him  at  Epworth,  to  hold 
and  improve  what  painful  inches  he  had  gained;  and 
again  he  could  only  think  of  John.    Could  a  man  devote 
his  life  to  this  forsaken  parish  and  yet  be  a  light  set  on 
a  hill  for  the  world.?     Had  not  his  own  life  taught  the 
folly  of  that  hope  ? 

He  sighed  and  turned  from  the   window.     He    had 
quite  forgotten  Hetty. 

He  stepped  to  the  door   to  summon  Johnny  White- 


HETTY   WESLEY  83 

lamb :  but  the  sound  of  voices  drew  him  across  the  pas- 
sage to  the  best  parlour,  and  there  at  the  threshold  his 
eyes  fell  on  Sukey's  headdress. 

"  Susannah!  " 

"Yes,  father."     Sukey  stepped  forward  to  be  kissed. 

"Take  off  that  — that  thing!'' 

"Yes,  father."     She  untied  the  strings  obediently. 

"  If  your  husband  chooses  to  dress  and  carry  you  about 
the  country  like  a  figure  of  fun  I  cannot  prevent  him. 
But  in  my  house  remember  that  I  am  your  father,  and 
take  my  assurance  that,  although  Jezebel  tired  her  head, 
she  had  the  saving  grace  of  not  looking  like  a  fool." 

Mr.  Wesley  turned  on  his  heel  and  strode  back  to  his 
books. 

"Why  don't  you  stand  up  to  him  }  "  asked  Mr.  Dick 
Ellison  suddenly,  on  the  road  to  Kelstein. 

"To  father.''"  Hetty  came  out  of  her  day-dreams 
with  a  start. 

"  Yes  :  you've  been  having  a  tiff  this  morning,  anyone 
can  see.  Young  man  is  poison  to  him,  hey  }  Why  don't 
you  take  a  leaf  out  of  my  book  1  *  Paternal  authority '  — 
and  a  successor  of  the  apostles  into  the  bargain  —  that's 
his  ground.  Well,  I  don't  allow  him  to  take  it.  *  Beggars 
can't  be  choosers  '  is  mine,  and  I  pin  him  to  it.  Oh,  yes, 
Fm  poison  to  him,  but  it  does  him  good.  '  That  cock 
won't  crow,'  I  say.  He's  game  enough  on  his  own  dung- 
hill, but  a  high-blooded  lass  like  you  ought  to  be  his 
master  by  this  time.  Hint  that  you'll  cut  the  painter, 
kick   over   the   traces  —  you    needn't    do   it,    y'    knov/. 


84  HETTY   WESLEY 

Threaten  you'll  run  and  join  the  stage  —  nothing  un- 
likely in  that  —  and,  by  George,  it'd  bring  him  up  with 
a  round  turn !     Where's  your  invention  ? " 

Hetty  gazed  at  the  horse's  ears  and  considered.  "  It's 
easy  for  you,  Dick,  who  have  nothing  in  common  with 
him,  not  even  affection." 

"  Oh,  I  like  the  old  fellow  well  enough,  for  all  his  airs 
with  me,"  said  Mr.  Dick  Ellison  graciously. 

"  If  they  annoyed  you  more,  you  might  understand 
him  better  —  and  me,"  replied  Hetty. 

Silence  fell  between  them  again  and  the  gig  bowled 
on. 


BOOK    II 


THE  frozen  canal  ran  straight  towards  the  sunset, 
into  a  flooded  country  where  only  a  line  of  pollard 
willows,  with  here  and  there  an  alder,  marked  the  course 
of  its  left  bank.  But  where  Hetty  waited  the  banks  were 
higher,  and  the  red  ball  on  the  horizon  sent  a  level  shaft 
down  the  lane  between  them. 

She  was  alone.  Indeed  the  only  living  creature  within 
sight  was  a  red-breast,  hunched  into  a  ball  and  watching 
her  from  a  wintry  willow  bough  ;  the  only  moving  object 
a  windmill  half  a  mile  away  across  the  level,  turning 
its  sails  against  the  steel-gray  sky  —  so  listlessly,  they 
seemed  to  be  numbed. 

She  had  strapped  on  a  pair  of  skates  —  clumsy  home- 
made things,  and  a  birthday  present  from  Johnny  White- 
lamb,  who  had  fashioned  them  with  pains,  the  Epworth 
blacksmith  helping.  Hetty  skated  excellently  well  —  in 
days,  be  it  understood,  before  the  cutting  of  figures  had 
been  advanced  to  an  art  with  rules  and  text-books.  But 
as  the  poise  and  balanced  impetus  came  natural  to  her, 
so  in  idle  moments  and  casually  she  had  struck  out  figures 
of  her  own,  and  practised  them  now  with  the  red-breast 
for  spectator.     She  was  happy  —  her  bosom's  lord  sitting 

85 


86  HETTY   WESLEY 

lightly  on  his  throne  —  and  all  because  of  two  letters  she 
pulled  from  her  pocket  and  re-read  in  the  pauses  of  her 
skating. 

The  first  was  from  her  mother  at  Wroote,  and  told  her 
that  to-day  or  to-morrow  her  father  would  be  arriving  at 
Kelstein  with  her  sister  Patty.  Hetty  had  been  expect- 
ing this  for  some  weeks.  At  Christmas  (it  was  now  mid- 
January)  the  Granthams  had  written  praising  her,  and 
this  had  given  Mr.  Wesley  the  notion  of  proffering  yet 
another  of  his  daughters.  Two  days  after  receiving  the 
letter  he  had  ridden  over  to  Kelstein  with  the  proposal. 
Patty  was  the  one  chosen  (Hetty  could  guess  why),  and 
poor  Patty  knew  nothing  of  it  at  the  time:  but  Mrs. 
Grantham  had  accepted  almost  effusively,  and  she  was  to 
come.  In  what  capacity  ?  Hetty  wondered.  She  herself 
taught  the  children,  and  she  could  think  of  no  other  post 
in  the  household  not  absolutely  menial.  Was  it  selfish  of 
her  to  be  so  glad  >  For  one  thing  Patty  had  fewer  whim- 
sies than  the  rest  of  her  sisters  and,  likely  enough,  would 
accept  her  lot  as  a  matter  of  course.  She  seldom  wept 
or  grumbled  :  indeed  Hetty,  before  now,  had  found  her 
patience  irritating.  But  to  have  Patty's  company  now 
seemed  the  most  delightful  thing  in  the  world ;  to  fling 
her  arms  around  somebody  who  came  from  home ! 

The  most  delightful?  Hetty  turned  to  the  second 
letter —  and  with  that  looked  up  swiftly  as  her  ear  caught 
the  ringing  sound  of  skates,  and  a  young  man  descended, 
as  it  were,  out  of  the  sun's  disc  and  came  flying  down 
the  long  alley  on  its  ray.  She  put  out  both  hands.  He 
swooped  around  her  in  a  long  curve  and  caught  them 


HETTY   WESLEY  87 

and  kissed  her  as  he  came  to  a  standstill,  panting,  with 
a  flush  on  each  handsome  cheek. 

''Hetty!" 

No  answer  to  this  but  a  sound  like  a  coo  of  rapture. 
He  is,  as  we  should  think,  a  personable  young  fellow, 
frank,  and  taking  to  the  eye,  though  his  easy  air  of 
mastery  provokes  another  look  at  Hetty,  who  is  worth 
ten  of  him.  But  to  her  he  is  a  young  god  above  whom 
the  stars  dance.  Splendid  creature  though  she  be,  she 
must  comply  with  her  sex  which  commands  her  to  be 
passive,  to  be  loved.  With  his  arm  about  her  she  shuts 
her  eyes  and  drinks  delicious  weakness ;  with  a  sense 
of  sinking  through  space  supported  by  that  arm  —  not 
wholly  relying  on  him  as  yet,  but  holding  her  own 
strength  in  reserve,  if  he  should  fail  her. 

**I  have  raced." 

She  laughed.  "  I  bargained  for  that.  We  have  so 
little  time!" 

''  How  long  } " 

"  Mrs.  Grantham  expects  me  back  in  an  hour  at  latest. 
Father  and  Patty  will  be  arriving  before  supper,  and 
there  are  the  children  to  be  put  to  bed." 

"  Let  us  go  up  the  canal,  then.  I  have  a  surprise  for 
you." 

They  took  hands  —  her  both  hands  in  his,  their  arms 
held  crosswise  to  their  bodies  —  and  struck  out,  stroke  for 
stroke.  By  the  third  stroke  they  were  swinging  forward 
in  perfect  rhythm,  each  onrush  held  long  and  level  on 
the  outside  edge  and  curving  only  as  it  slackened.  The 
air  began  to  sing  by  Hetty's  temples  ;  her  skates  kept  a 


88  HETTY   WESLEY 

humming  tune  with  her  lover's.  The  back  of  his  hand 
rested  warm  against  her  bosom. 

"You  skate  divinely." 

She  scarcely  heard.  The  world  slipped  past  and  behind 
her  with  the  racing  trees  :  she  was  a  bird  mated  and 
flying  into  the  sunset.  Ah,  here  was  bliss  !  A  while  ago 
she  had  been  faint  with  love,  as  though  a  cord  were  being 
tio:htened  around  her  heart :  it  had  been  hard  for  her  to 
speak,  hard  even  to  draw  breath.  Now  her  lungs  opened, 
the  cord  snapped  and  broke  with  a  sob  ;  and,  as  the  sun's 
rim  dipped,  she  flew  faster,  urgent  to  overtake  and  hold 
it  there,  to  stay  its  red  glint  between  the  reed-beds,  its 
bloom  of  brown  and  purple  on  the  withered  grasses.  The 
wind  of  her  skirt  caught  up  the  dead  leaves  freshly 
scattered  on  the  ice  and  swept  them  along  with  her, 
whirling,  like  a  train  of  birds.  But,  race  as  she  would,  the 
sun  sank  and  the  shadovvr  of  the  world  crept  higher  behind 
her  shoulder.  The  last  gleam  died  ;  and,  lifting  her  eyes, 
Hetty  saw  over  its  grave,  poised  in  a  clear  space  of  sky, 
the  sickle  moon. 

She  tried  to  disengage  her  hand,  to  point  to  it :  but  as 
his  eyes  sought  hers  with  a  question,  she  let  it  lie  and 
nodded  upwards  instead.  He  saw  and  understood,  and 
with  their  faces  raised  to  it  they  held  on  their  flight  in 
silence  :  for  lovers  may  wish  with  the  new  moon,  but  the 
first  to  speak  will  have  wished  in  vain. 

A  tapping,  as  of  someone  hammering  upon  metal, 
sounded  from  a  clump  of  willows  ahead  and  upon  their 
right.  A  woman's  voice  joined  in  scolding.  This  broke 
the  spell  ;    and  with   a  laugh   they   disengaged   hands. 


HETTY    WESLEY  89 

separated,  and  let  their  speed  bear  them  on  side  by  side 
till  it  slackened  and  they  ran  to  a  halt  beside  the 
trees. 

A  barge  lay  here,  hopelessly  frozen  on  its  way  up  the 
canal.  On  its  deck  a  woman,  with  arms  akimbo,  stood 
over  a  man  seated  and  tinkering  at  a  kettle.  She  nodded 
as  they  approached. 

"  Sorry  to  keep  you  waiting,  sir  —  you  and  the  lady." 

Hetty  looked  at  her  lover. 

"  It's  all  right,"  he  explained  :  "  only  a  surprise  of  mine, 
which  seems  to  have  missed  fire.  I  had  planned  a  small 
picnic  here  and  this  good  woman  was  to  have  had  a  dish 
of  tea  ready  for  you  —  " 

''How  was  I  to  know  that  man  of  mine  had  been  fool 
enough  to  fill  the  kettle  before  tramping  off  to  the  Ring 
of  Bells  ? "  the  good  woman  broke  in.  "  Lord  knows 
'tisn'  his  way  to  be  thoughtful,  and  when  he  tries  it 
there's  always  a  breakage.  When  I'd  melted  the  ice, 
the  thing  began  to  leak  like  a  sieve  ;  and  if  this  tinker 
fellow  hadn't  come  along  —  by  Providence,  as  you  may 
call  it  —  though  I'd  ha'  been  obliged  to  Providence  for  a 
quicker  workman  —  " 

Hetty  was  not  hstening.  Her  eyes  had  caught  the 
tinker's,  and  the  w^arm  blood  had  run  back  from  her 
face  :  for  he  was  the  man  who  had  startled  the  sisters 
on  the  knoll,  that  harvest  evening. 

He  nodded  to  her  now  with  an  impudent  grin.  ''  Good 
evening,  missy.  If  I'd  known  the  job  was  for  Miss 
Wesley,  I'd  ha'  put  best  speed  into  it :  best  work  there 
is  already." 


90  HETTY  WESLEY 

# 

*'  Hullo  !  Do  you  know  this  fellow  ?  "  her  lover  de- 
manded. 

"  *  Fellow '  —  and  a  moment  back  'twas  *  tinker ' !  Well, 
well,  a  man  must  look  low  and  pick  up  what  he  can  in 
these  times,  'specially  when  his  larger  debtors  be  so  back- 
ward —  hey,  miss  ?  Why,  to  be  sure  I  know  Miss  Wesley : 
a  man  don't  forget  a  face  like  hers  in  a  hurry.  Glad  to 
meet  her,  likewise,  enjoy  in'  herself  so  free  and  easy. 
Shall  I  tell  the  old  Rector,  miss,  next  time  I  call,  how 
well  you  was  lookin',  and  in  what  company.-*" 

Hetty  saw  her  lover  ruffling  and  laid  a  hand  on  his 
arm. 

"Tuppence  if  you  please,  ma'am,  and  I'll  be  going. 
William  Wright  was  never  one  to  spoil  sport :  but  some 
has  luck  in  this  world  and  some  hasn't,  and  that's  a  fact." 
He  grinned  again  as  he  pocketed  the  money. 

**  If  you  don't  take  your  impudent  face  out  of  this,  I'll 
smash  it  for  you,"  spoke  up  the  young  man  hotly. 

The  plumber's  grin  widened  as,  slinging  his  bag  of 
tools  over  his  shoulder,  he  stepped  on  to  the  frozen  tow- 
path.  "  Ah,  you're  a  bruiser,  I  dare  say  :  for  I've  seen  you 
outside  the  booth  at  Lincoln  Fair,  hail-fellow  with  the 
boxing-men  on  the  platform.  And  a  buck  you  was  too, 
with  a  girl  on  each  arm ;  and  might  pass,  that  far  from 
home,  for  one  of  the  gentry,  the  way  you  stood  treat. 
But  you're  not :  and  if  missy  ain't  more  particular  in  her 
bucks,  she'd  do  better  with  a  respectable  tradesman  like 
me.  As  for  smashing  of  faces,  two  can  play  at  that 
game,  belike :  but  William  Wright  chooses  his  time." 

He  was  lurching  away  with  a  guffaw  ;  for  the  tow-path 


HETTY  WESLEY  91 

here  ran  within  two  furlongs  of  the  highroad,  and  a  man 
upon  skates  cannot  pursue  across  terra  firma. 

But  he  had  reckoned  without  Hetty,  who  had  seated 
herself  on  the  edge  of  the  barge  and  who  now  shook 
her  feet  free  of  Johnny  Whitelamb's  rough  clamps,  and, 
springing  from  the  deck  to  the  tow-path,  took  him  by 
the  collar  as  he  turned. 

"Go ! "  she  cried,  and  with  her  open  palm  dealt  him  a 
stinging  slap  across  the  cheek.     "  Go  !  " 

The  man  put  up  his  hand,  fell  back  a  moment  with  a 
dazed  face,  and  then  without  a  word  ran  for  the  highway, 
his  bag  of  tools  rattling  behind  him. 

Never  was  rout  more  ludicrously  sudden.  Even  in 
her  wrath  Hetty  looked  at  her  lover  and  broke  into  a 
laugh. 

"  Let  me  skate  up  the  canal  and  head  him  off,"  said 
he.  "  Half  a  mile  will  give  me  lead  enough  to  slip  out 
of  these  things  and  collar  him  on  the  highway." 

"  He  is  not  worth  it.  Besides,  he  may  not  be  going 
towards  Kelstein  :  in  this  light  we  cannot  see  the  road  or 
what  direction  he  takes.  Let  him  be,  dear,"  Hetty  per- 
suaded, as  the  old  woman  called  out  from  her  cabin  that 
the  kettle  boiled.     "  Our  time  is  too  precious." 

Then,  while  he  yet  fumed,  she  suddenly  grew  grave. 

"  Was  it  truth  he  was  telling  }  " 

"Truth.?"  he  echoed. 

"  Yes  :  about  Lincoln  Fair  ?  " 

"  Oh,  the  boxing-booth,  you  mean  ?  Well,  my  dear, 
there  was  something  in  it,  to  be  sure.  You  wouldn't 
have  me  be  a  milksop,  would  you .? " 


92 


HETTY   WESLEY 


"No-0,"  she  mused.  "But  I  meant  what  he  said 
about  —  about  those  women.     Was  that  true  .^^  " 

He  was  on  the  point  of  answering  with  a  lie  ;  but 
while  he  hesitated  she  helped  him  by  adding,  "  I  am  not 
a  child,  dear.  I  am  twenty-seven,  and  older  than  you. 
Please  be  honest  with  me,  always." 

He  was  young,  but  had  an  instinct  for  understanding 
women.  He  revised  the  first  lie  and  rejected  it  for  a 
more  cunning  one.  "  It  was  before  I  met  you,"  he  said 
humbly.  "He  made  the  worst  of  it,  of  course,  but  I 
had  rather  you  knew  the  truth.     You  are  angry  ? " 

Hetty  sighed.  "  I  am  sorry.  It  seems  to  make  our 
—  our  love  —  different  somehow." 

The  bargewoman  brought  out  their  tea.  She  had 
heard  nothing  of  the  scrimmage  on  the  bank,  so  swiftly 
had  it  happened  and  with  so  few  words  spoken. 

"Hulloa  —  is  the  tinker  gone.?  And  I'd  cut  off  a 
crust  for  him.  Well,  I  can  eat  it  myself,  I  suppose ; 
and  after  all  he  was  low  company  for  the  likes  of  you, 
though  any  company  comes  well  to  folks  that  can't  pick 
and  choose."  In  the  act  of  setting  herself  on  the  cabin 
top  she  sat  up  stiffly  and  listened. 

"There's  a  horse  upon  the  highroad,"  she  announced. 

"A  highwayman,  perhaps,  if  all  company's  welcome 
to  you." 

"  He  won't  come  this  way,"  said  the  woman  placidly. 
"  I  loves  to  He  close  to  the  road  Uke  this  and  see  the 
wagons  and  coaches  rolling  by  all  day:  for  'tis  a  dull 
life,  always  on  the  water.  Now  you  wouldn't  believe 
what  a  pleasure  it  gives  me,  to  have  you  two  here  a-lov- 


HETTY    WESLEY  93 

ering,  nor  how  many  questions  I'd  put  if  you'd  let  me. 
When  is  it  to  be,  my  dear?" — addressing  Hetty  — 
*'but  you  won't  answer  me,  I  know.  You're  wishing 
me  further,  and  go  I  will  as  soon  as  you've  drunk  your 
tay.  Well,  sir,  I  hope  you'll  take  care  of  her :  for  the 
pretty  she  is,  I  could  kiss  her  myself.  May  I  ? "  she 
asked  suddenly,  taking  Hetty's  empty  cup ;  and  Hetty 
blushed  and  let  her.  '*God  send  you  children,  you 
beauty  ! " 

She  paused  with  a  cup  in  either  hand,  and  in  the  act 
of  squeezing  herself  backwards  through  the  small  cabin- 
door.  "  La,  the  red  you've  gone !  I  can  see  it  with  no 
more  help  than  the  bit  of  moon.  'Tis  a  terrible  thing 
to  be  childless,  and  for  that  you  can  take  my  word." 
Wagging  her  head  she  vanished. 

Left  to  themselves  the  two  sat  silent.  The  sound  of 
the  horse's  hoofs  died  away  down  the  road  towards  Kel- 
stein.  Had  Hetty  known,  her  father  was  the  horseman, 
with  Patty  riding  pillion  behind  him.  Over  the  frozen 
floods  came  the  note  of  a  church  clock,  borne  on  the 
almost  windless  air. 

"Five  o'clock.'*"  Hetty  sprang  up.  ''Time  to  be 
going,  and  past." 

"You  have  not  forgiven  me,"  he  murmured. 

"Indeed,  yes."  She  was,  after  all,  a  girl  of  robust 
good  sense,  and  could  smile  bravely  as  she  put  an  illu- 
sion by.  "  To  be  loved  is  marvellous  and  seems  to  make 
all  marvels  possible  :  but  I  was  wrong  to  expect  —  this 
one.     And  if,  since  knowing  me  —  " 

"You  have  taught  me  all  better  things."     He  knelt 


94  HETTY   WESLEY 

on  the  ice  at  her  feet  and  began  to  fasten  her  skates. 
*'  Let  me  still  be  your  pupil  and  look  up  to  you,  as  I 
am  looking  now." 

"Ah!"  she  pressed  her  palms  together,  ''but  that  is 
just  what  I  need  —  to  know  that  we  are  both  better  for 
loving.  I  want  to  be  sure  of  that,  for  it  makes  me  brave 
when  I  think  of  father.  While  he  forbids  us,  I  cannot 
help  doubting  at  times :  and  then  I  look  into  myself 
and  see  that  all  the  world  is  brighter,  all  the  world  is 
better  since  I  knew  you.  O  my  love,  if  we  trust  our 
love,  and  help  one  another  —  "  Her  rich  voice  thrilled 
and  broke  as  she  leaned  forward  and  laid  a  hand  on  his 
forehead. 

**  See  me  at  your  feet,"  he  whispered,  looking  up  into 
eyes  divinely  dewy.  "  I  am  yours  to  teach  :  teach  me, 
if  you  will,  to  be  good." 

They  rose  to  their  feet  together  —  he  but  an  inch  or 
so  the  taller  —  and  for  a  moment,  as  he  took  her  in  his 
arms,  she  held  back,  her  palms  against  his  shoulders, 
her  eyes  passionately  seeking  the  truth  in  his.  Then 
with  a  sob  she  kissed  him  and  was  gone. 

For  a  moment  she  skated  nervelessly,  with  hanging 
arms.  But,  watching,  he  saw  her  summon  up  her 
strength  and  shoot  down  the  glimmering  ice-way  like 
a  swallow  let  loose  from  his  hand.  So  swift  was  her 
flight  that,  all  unknowing,  she  overtook  and  passed  the 
travellers  jogging  parallel  with  her  on  the  highroad ; 
and  had  reached  Kelstein  and  was  putting  her  two  small 
charges  to  bed,  when  her  father's  knock  sounded  below 
stairs. 


HETTY   WESLEY  95 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grantham,  though  pompous,  were  a 
kindly  pair  :  and  Mrs.  Grantham,  entering  the  library 
where  Mr.  Wesley  and  his  daughter  awaited  her,  and 
observing  that  the  girl  seemed  frightened  or  depressed 
(she  could  not  determine  which)  rang  the  bell  at  once 
and  sent  a  maid  upstairs  for  Hetty. 

Hetty  entered  with  cheeks  still  glowing  and  eyes 
sparkling ;  went  at  once  to  her  father  and  kissed  him, 
and  running,  threw  her  arms  around  Patty,  who  responded 
listlessly. 

"  She  needs  Kelstein  air,"  explained  Mr.  Wesley.  "  I 
protest  it  seems  to  agree  with  you,  Mehetabel." 

*'  But  tell  me  all  the  news,  father,"  Hetty  demanded, 
with  an  arm  about  her  sister's  waist  and  a  glance  at 
Mrs.  Grantham,  which  asked  pardon  for  her  freedom. 

"Your  sister  shall  tell  it,  my  dear,"  answered  that 
good  woman,  "while  I  am  persuading  your  father  to 
sup  with  us.  I  have  given  them  a  room  together,"  she 
explained  to  Mr.  Wesley.  "I  thought  it  would  be 
pleasanter  for  them." 

"  You  are  kindness  itself,  madam." 

Hetty  led  the  way  upstairs.  "It  is  all  strange  at 
first,  dear :  I  know  the  feeling.  But  see  how  cosy  we 
shall  be."  She  threw  the  door  open,  and  showed  a 
room  far  more  comfortably  furnished  than  any  at  Wroote 
or  Epworth.  The  housemaid,  who  adored  Hetty,  had 
even  lit  a  fire  in  the  grate.  Two  beds  with  white  cover- 
lets, coarse  but  exquisitely  clean,  stood  side  by  side  — 
"Though  we  won't  use  them  both.  I  must  have  you  in 
my  arms,  and  drink  in  every  word  you  have  to  tell  me 


96  HETTY   WESLEY 

till  you  drop  off  to  sleep  in  spite  of  me,  and  hold  you 
even  then.     Oh,  Patty,  it  is  good  to  have  you  here ! " 

But  Patty,  having  untied  the  strings  of  her  hat,  tossed 
it  on  to  the  edge  of  her  bed  and  collapsed  beside  it. 

"  I  wish  I  was  dead  ! "  she  announced. 


II 

JOHN  ROMLEY  was  the  cause  of  her  exile.  This 
young  man  had  been  a  pupil  of  the  Rector's,  and 
studied  divinity  with  him  for  a  while  before  matriculat- 
ing at  Lincoln  College,  Oxford  ;  where  in  due  course  he 
took  his  degree,  and  whence  he  returned,  in  deacon's 
orders,  to  take  charge  of  the  endowed  school  at  Epworth 
and  to  help  in  the  spiritual  work  of  the  parish.  Mr. 
Wesley's  experience  of  curates  had  been  far  from 
happy,^  but  Romley  promised  to  be  the  bright  exception 

1  For  an  instance.  —  In  the  years  17 10-12,  during  long  absences 
in  London  to  attend  Convocation,  he  had  left  his  parish  to  the  care 
of  a  curate  named  Inman,  the  sum  of  whose  doctrine  was  that  men 
should  pay  their  debts  and  dwell  in  Christian  amity  on  short  credit. 
The  parishioners  grew  weary  and,  on  Mr.  Wesley's  revisiting  his 
home  during  an  adjournment,  complained  of  this  teaching  as 
"barren."  He  at  once  sent  for  the  curate  and  desired  him  to  pre- 
pare a  sermon  upon  the  words,  "Without  faith  it  is  impossible  to 
please  God"  (Heb.  xi.  6).  Accordingly  next  Sunday  the  curate  gave 
out  his  text  and  began :  "  Friends,  faith  is  a  most  excellent  virtue,  and  it 
produces  other  virtues  also.  In  particular  it  makes  a  man  pay  his 
debts " :    and  so  continued  for  about  fifteen  minutes. 

The  Rector  had  excellent  reasons  for  agreeing  that  this  sort  of 
thing  might  be  tedious.  But  he  departed  for  London  again,  having 
taken  no  further  steps  to  put  an  end  to  it.  Mrs.  Wesley,  in  self- 
defence,  had  begun  to  hold  a  Sunday  evening  service  in  the  rectory 
kitchen  for  her  children  and  servants,  when  she  read  a  sermon  and 
talked  freely  and  informally  of  the  Christian  life.  The  servants  told 
their   friends,  who   asked   permission  to   attend:    and  so  the   congrega- 

H  97 


98  HETTY   WESLEY 

in  a  long  list  of  failures.  (It  was  he  who  discovered 
and  introduced  Johnny  Whitelamb  to  the  household.) 
He  was  sociable ;  had  pleasant  manners,  a  rotund  figure 
not  yet  inclining  to  coarseness,  a  pink  and  white  com- 
plexion, and  a  mellifluous  tenor  voice.  To  his  voice, 
alas !  he  owed  most  of  his  misfortunes  in  life. 

The  Rector  had  no  high  opinion  of  his  brains  :  but 
tolerated  him,  and  at  first  looked  on  leniently  enough 
when  he  began  to  pay  his  addresses  to  Patty.  Indeed 
the  courtship  proceeded  to  the  gentle  envy  of  her  sisters 
until  one  fatal  night  when  Romley,  in  the  rectory  par- 
lour at  Wroote,  attuned  his  voice  to  sing  the  "Vicar  of 
Bray."  In  his  study  Mr.  Wesley  heard  it.  He,  of  all 
men,  was  no  Vicar  of  Bray,  albeit  he  had  abjured  Dis- 
sent :  but  he  felt  his  cloth  insulted,  and  by  this  fribble 
of  his  own  order.  It  was  treason  in  short,  and  he 
bounced  into  the  parlour  as  Mr.  Romley  carolled : 

"  When  gracious  Anne  became  our  Queen, 

The  Church  of  England's  glory, 
Another  face  of  things  was  seen. 

And  I  became  a  Tory  ; 
Occasional  Conformists  base — " 

tion  increased  to  two  hundred  souls.  Inman  was  furious  and  wrote 
up  to  London  that  Mrs.  Wesley  was  turning  the  parsonage  into  a 
conventicle.  The  Rector  wrote  to  his  wife  desiring  her  to  give  over 
the  meetings.  She  answered  with  a  spirited  defence,  and  concluded: 
"If,  after  all  this,  you  think  fit  to  dissolve  the  assembly,  do  not  tell 
me  that  you  desire  me  to  do  it,  for  that  will  not  satisfy  my  conscience; 
but  send  me  your  positive  commands,  in  such  full  and  express  terms  as 
may  absolve  me  from  all  guilt  and  punishment  for  neglecting  this  oppor- 
tunity of  doing  good  when  you  and  I  shall  appear  before  the  great  and 
awful  tribunal  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ." 


HETTY   WESLEY  99 

There  was  a  scene,  and  it  ended  in  Romley  being 
shown  the  door  and  Patty  forbidden  to  have  speech  with 
him.  Actually  she  had  not  set  eyes  on  him  since  that 
night :  but  the  Rector  unaccountably  omitted  to  forbid 
their  corresponding.  Now  Patty,  the  most  literally 
minded  of  her  sex,  had  a  niggling  obstinacy  in  pursuit 
of  her  ends.  She  would  obey  to  a  hair's  breadth  :  but, 
nothing  having  been  said  about  letters,  letters  passed. 
Piecing  the  truth  together  from  her  incoherent  railings, 
Hetty  learned  that  the  Rector  had  happened  upon  a 
scrap  of  Romley's  handwriting,  had  lost  his  temper 
furiously,  and  given  sentence  of  banishment. 

Patty  in  love  showed  none  of  her  sister's  glorious 
fervour :  but  stared  obtusely,  even  sulkily,  when  Hetty 
hinted  at  her  own  secret  and,  pressing  her  waist,  spoke 
of  love  with  fearless  elation,  yet  as  of  a  sacred  thing. 

"  Oh,  you're  too  poetical  for  me  ! "  she  interrupted. 

This  was  depressing. 

"  And  I  wish  I  was  in  my  grave,"  added  Patty,  looking 
like  a  martyr  in  a  wet  blanket. 

Thinking  to  put  spirit  into  her,  Hetty  became  more 
explicit  and  proved  that  love  might  find  out  a  way 
between  Epworth  and  Kelstein  —  nay,  even  spoke  of  her 
own  clandestine  meeting  that  very  afternoon.  Her 
cheeks  glowed.  Nor  for  a  minute  did  she  observe  that 
Patty,  listless  at  the  beginning  of  the  tale,  was  staring 
at  her  with  round  eyes. 

*'  You  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  meet  him  !  " 

"  Why,  of  course  I  do." 

"  But  father  forbade  it !  " 


100  HETTY   WESLEY 

"To  be  sure  he  did." 

"  Then  all  I  can  say  is  "  —  Patty  rose  to  her  feet  in  the 
strength  of  her  disapproval — "that  I  call  it  disgraceful, 
and  I'm  perfectly  ashamed  of  you  !  " 

"  But,  good  Heavens  !  he  forbade  you  to  see  Romley." 

"But  not  to  write." 

"  O-o  !  "  Hetty  mused  with  her  pretty  mouth  shaped 
to  the  letter.  "  And  now,  I  suppose,  he  has  forbidden 
that  too  ?  " 

"  Of  course  he  has." 

"  And  you  are  going  to  obey  ? " 

"  Of  course  I  am." 

It  was  Hetty's  turn  to  stare  wide-eyed.  "You  are 
going  to  give  Romley  up  .-^ "  she  asked  very  slowly. 

"Yes,  yes,  yes  —  and  I  wish  I  was  in  my  grave!" 
Patty  collapsed  again  dismally,  but  sat  upright  after  a 
moment.  "  As  for  your  behaviour,  'tis  positively  wicked, 
and  I  think  father  ought  to  be  told  of  it  ! " 

Hetty  put  out  both  hands  ;  but  instead  of  shaking  her 
sister  (as  she  was  minded  to  do)  she  let  the  open  palms 
fall  gently  upon  her  shoulders  and  looked  her  in  the  face. 

"  Then  I  advise  you  not  to  tell  him,  dear.  For  in  the 
first  place  it  would  do  no  good." 

"Do  no  good.?" 

"  Well,  then,  it  would  make  no  difference." 

"  You  mean  to  —  run  away  —  with  him  ? "  gasped  Patty, 
her  eyes  involuntarily  turning  towards  the  window. 

The  glance  set  Hetty's  laughter  rippling.  "  Pat  —  Pat ! 
don't  be  a  goose.  I  shall  not  run  away  with  him  from 
this  house.     I  promised  mother." 


HETTY   WESll£:V  ''   '  ^      lOl 

"  You  —  promised  —  mother !  "  Patty  was  reduced  to 
stammering  echoes. 

"  Dear  me,  yes.  You  must  not  suppose  yourself  the 
only  one  of  her  children  she  understands."  Hetty,  being 
human,  could  not  forgo  this  little  slap.  *'  Now  wash  your 
face,  like  a  good  girl,  and  come  down  to  supper :  and 
afterwards  you  shall  tell  me  all  the  news  of  home.  There's 
one  thing"  —  and  she  eyed  Patty  droUy —  "  I  can  trust 
you  to  be  accurate." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  can  look  father  in 
the  face  —  "  But  here  Patty  broke  off,  at  the  sound  of 
hoofs  on  the  gravel  below. 

"There  will  be  no  need,"  said  Hetty  quietly,  "if,  as 
I  think,  he  is  mounting  Bounce  to  ride  home." 

"  Bounce  ?  How  did  you  know  that  Bounce  brought 
us.?"  —  for  Bounce  was  Mrs.  Wesley's  nag,  and  the 
Rector  usually  rode  an  old  gray  named  Mettle,  but  had 
taken  of  late  to  a  filly  of  his  own  breeding. 

"  I  ought  to  remember  Bounce's  shuffle,"  answered 
Hetty.  "  Nay,  I  should  have  recognized  it  on  the  road 
two  miles  back  if — if  I  hadn't  been  —  " 

She  came  to  a  full  stop,  in  some  confusion.  Never- 
theless she  was  right ;  and  the  girls  arrived  downstairs 
to  learn  from  Mrs.  Grantham  that  their  father  had  rid- 
den off,  declining  her  offer  of  supper  and  scoffing  at  her 
fears  of  highwaymen. 

And  the  days  went  by.  Hetty  could  not  help  telling 
herself  that  Patty  was  a  disappointment.  But  she  was 
saved  from  reflecting  on  it  overmuch  :  for  Mrs.  Gran- 
tham (after  forty  years  of  comfort  without  one)  had  con- 


loi'  ''      '  i^ietTY   WESLEY 

ceived  a  desire  to  be  waited  on  and  have  her  hair  dressed 
by  a  maid,  and  between  Mrs.  Grantham's  inabiUty  to 
discover  precisely  what  she  wanted  done  by  Patty,  and 
Patty's  unhandiness  in  doing  it,  and  Mrs.  Grantham's 
anxiety  to  fill  up  Patty's  time,  and  Patty's  lack  of  inven- 
tiveness, the  pair  kept  Hetty  pretty  constantly  near  her 
wit's  end. 

Concerning  her  lover  she  attempted  no  more  confi- 
dences. But,  alone,  she  pondered  much  on  Patty's  re- 
proof, which  set  her  arguing  out  the  whole  case  afresh. 
For,  absurd  though  its  logic  was,  it  had  touched  her 
conscience.  Was  it  conscience  (she  asked  herself)  or 
but  the  old  habit  of  trembUng  at  her  father's  word,  which 
kept  her  so  uneasy  in  disobeying  him  .? 

She  came  to  no  new  conclusion ;  for  a  sense  of  injus- 
tice gave  a  twist  to  her  thinking  from  the  start.  All  his 
daughters  held  Mr.  Wesley  in  awe  :  they  never  dreamed, 
for  instance,  of  comparing  their  lovers  with  him  in  re- 
spect of  dignity  or  greatness.  They  assumed  that  their 
brothers  inherited  some  portion  of  that  greatness,  but 
they  required  none  in  the  men  to  whom  they  were  ready 
to  give  their  hands  ;  nay,  perhaps  unconsciously,  rejoiced 
in  the  lack  of  it,  having  lived  with  it  at  home  and  found 
it  uncomfortable. 

They  were  proud  of  it,  of  course,  and  knew  that  they 
themselves  had  some  touch  of  it,  if  but  a  lunar  glow. 
They  read  the  assurance  in  their  mother's  speech,  in  her 
looks ;  and,  moving  among  the  Epworth  folk  as  neigh- 
bours, yet  apart,  they  had  acquired  a  high  pride  of  family 
which  derived  nothing  from  vulgar  chatter  about  titled, 


HETTY   WESLEY  103 

rich,  and  far-off  relatives ;  but,  taking  ancestry  for 
granted,  found  sustenance  enough  in  the  daily  life  at  the 
parsonage  and  the  letters  from  Westminster  and  Oxford. 
Aware  of  some  worth  in  themselves,  they  saw  themselves 
pinched  of  food,  exiled  from  many  companions,  shut  out 
from  social  gatherings  for  want  of  pocket-money  and  de- 
cent attire,  while  amid  all  the  muddle  of  his  affairs  their 
father  could  tramp  for  miles  and  pledge  the  last  ounce 
of  his  credit  to  scrape  a  few  pounds  for  John  or  Charles. 
They  divined  his  purpose :  but  they  felt  the  present 
injustice. 

They  never  regarded  him  as  just.  And  this  was 
mainly  his  own  fault,  or  at  least  the  fault  of  his  theory 
that  women,  especially  daughters,  were  not  to  be  reasoned 
with  but  commanded.  Hetty,  for  example,  had  an  in- 
finite capacity  for  self-sacrifice.  At  an  appeal  from  him 
she  would  have  surrendered,  not  small  vanities  only,  but 
desires  more  than  trivial,  for  the  brothers  whom  in  her 
heart  she  loved  to  fondness.  But  the  sacrifice  was  ever 
exacted,  not  left  to  her  good-nature ;  the  right  word 
never   spoken. 

And  now,  under  the  same  numbing  deference,  her 
mother  had  failed  her  at  a  moment  when  all  her  heart 
cried  out  in  its  need.  Hetty  loved  her  lover.  Perhaps, 
if  allowed  to  fare  abroad,  consort  with  other  girls,  and 
learn,  with  responsibility,  to  choose  better,  she  had 
never  chosen  this  man.  She  had  chosen  him  now. 
Poor  Hetty! 

But  that  she  did  wrong  to  meet  him  secretly  her  con- 
science accused  her.     She  had  been  trained  religiously. 


104  HETTY   WESLEY 

Had  she  no  religion,  then,  upon  which  to  stay  her  sense 
of  duty  ? 

Where  a  mother  has  failed,  even  the  Bible  may  fail. 
Hetty  read  her  Bible :  but  just  because  its  austerer 
teaching  had  been  bound  too  harshly  upon  her  at  home, 
she  turned  by  instinct  to  the  gentler  side  which  reveals 
Christ's  loving-kindness.  His  pity,  His  indulgence.  All 
generous  natures  lean  towards  this  side,  and  to  their 
honour,  but  at  times  also  to  their  very  great  danger. 
For  the  austerity  is  meant  for  them  who  most  need  it. 
Also  the  austere  rules  are  more  definite,  which  makes 
them  a  surer  guide  for  the  soul  desiring  goodness,  but 
passionately  astray.  It  spurns  them,  demanding  loving- 
kindness  ;  and  discovers  too  late  that  loving-kindness 
dictated  them. 


Ill 

Two  mornings  after  Patty's  arrival,  Hetty  sat  in 
the  schoolroom  telling  a  Bible  story  to  her  pupils, 
George  Grantham  and  small  Rebecca  ;  the  one  aged 
eight,  the  other  barely  five.  They  were  by  no  means 
clever  children  ;  but  they  knew  a  good  story  when  they 
heard  one,  and  Hetty  held  them  to  the  adventures  of 
Joseph  and  his  Brethren,  although  great  masses  of  snow 
were  sliding  off  the  roof,  and  every  now  and  then  toppling 
down  past  the  window  with  a  rush  —  which  every  child 
knows  to  be  fascinating.  For  the  black  frost  had  broken 
up  at  last  in  a  twelve  hours'  downfall  of  snow,  and  this 
in  turn  had  yielded  to  a  soft  southerly  wind.  The  morn- 
ing sunshine  poured  in  through  the  schoolroom  window 
and  took  all  colour  out  of  the  sea-coal  fire. 

"  One  night  Joseph  dreamed  a  dream  which  he  told 
next  morning  to  his  brothers.  And  his  dream  was  that 
they  were  all  in  the  harvest-field,  binding  sheaves  :  and 
when  Joseph  had  bound  his  sheaf,  it  stood  upright,  but 
the  other  sheaves  around  slid  and  fell  flat,  as  if  they  were 
bowing  on  their  faces  before  it.  When  he  told  this,  it 
made  his  brothers  angry,  because  it  seemed  to  mean  that 
he  would  be  a  greater  man  than  any  of  them." 

"I  don't  wonder  they  were  angr}%"  broke  in  George, 
who  was  the  Granthams'  son  and  heir,  and  had  a  baby 

105 


I06  HETTY   WESLEY 

brother  of  whom  he  tried  hard  not  to  be  jealous.  "Joseph 
wasn't  the  oldest,  was  he?" 

"No:  he  was  the  youngest  of  all,  except  Benjamin." 

"  And  even  if  he  dreamed  it,  he  needn't  have  gone 
about  bragging.  It  was  bad  enough,  his  having  that  coat 
of  many  colours.  I  say.  Miss  Wesley,  —  you're  not  a  boy, 
of  course,  —  but  how  would  you  feel  if  your  father  made 
everything  of  one  of  your  brothers  ? " 

"  I  wonder  if  he  dreamed  it  on  a  Friday } "  piped 
Rebecca. 

"  Why,  child  .?  " 

"  Because  Martha  says  "  —  Martha  was  the  Gran- 
thams'  cook  —  "  that  Friday's  dream  on  Saturday  told 
is  bound  to  come  true  before  you  are  old." 

"  We  shall  find  out  if  it  came  true.  Go  on.  Miss 
Wesley." 

"  But  if  it  was  Friday's  dream,"  Rebecca  persisted, 
"  and  he  wanted  it  to  come  true,  he  couldn't  help  tell- 
ing it." 

"  Couldn't  help  being  a  sneak,  I  suppose  you  mean !  " 

A  sound  outside  the  window  cut  short  this  argument. 
All  glanced  up  :  but  it  came  this  time  from  no  avalanche 
of  snow.  Someone  had  planted  a  ladder  against  the 
house,  and  the  top  of  the  ladder  was  scraping  against 
the  window-sill. 

"  Too  short  by  six  feet,"  Hetty  heard  a  voice  say,  and 
held  her  breath.  The  ladder  was  joggled  a  little  and 
fixed  again.  Footsteps  began  to  ascend  it.  A  face  and  a 
pair  of  broad  shoulders  rose  into  sight  over  the  sill.  They 
belonged  to  William  Wright. 


HETTY  WESLEY  107 

"I  —  I  think,  dears,  we  had  better  find  some  other 
room." 

Hetty  had  sprung  up  and  felt  herself  shaking  from 
head  to  foot.  For  the  moment  he  was  not  looking  in,  but 
stood  at  the  top  of  the  ladder  with  his  head  thrown 
back,  craving  for  a  view  of  the  water-trough  under  the 
eaves. 

"  About  two  feet  to  the  right,"  he  called  to  someone 
below.  "  No  use  shifting  the  ladder  ;  'twon't  reach.  Stay 
a  minute,  though  —  I  don't  believe  'tis  a  leak  at  all. 
Here  —  " 

He  felt  the  closed  window  with  the  palm  of  his  hand, 
then  peered  through  it  into  the  room  ;  and  his  eyes  and 
Hetty's  met. 

"Well,  I  do  declare!  Good  morning,  miss:  'tis  like 
fate,  the  way  I  keep  running  across  you.  Now  would  you 
be  so  kind  as  to  lift  the  latch  on  your  side  and  push  the 
window  gently  ?  The  frame  opens  outwards  and  I  want 
to  steady  myself  by  it." 

She  obeyed,  and  was  turning  haughtily  to  follow  the 
children  when  George,  who  loitered  in  the  doorway  watch- 
ing, called  out  : 

"  Is  he  coming  into  the  room,  Miss  Wesley  ? " 

She  glanced  over  her  shoulder  and  halted.  The  man 
clearly  did  not  mean  to  enter,  but  had  scrambled  up 
to  the  sill,  and  balanced  himself  there  gripping  the 
window-frame  and  leading  outwards  at  an  angle  which 
made  her  giddy.  The  sill  was  narrow,  too,  and  sloping. 
She  caught  her  breath,  not  daring  to  move. 

He  seemed  to  hear  her,  for  he  answered  jocularly: 


I08  HETTY   WESLEY 

"  'Tis  to  be  hoped  the  hinges  are  strong  —  eh,  missy  ?  — 
or  there's  an  end  of  Wilham  Wright." 

**  Do,  please,  be  careful !  " 

''What's  that  to  you?  You  hate  me  bad  enough. 
Look  here  —  send  the  child  out  of  the  room  and  give  me 
a  push  :  a  little  one'd  do,  and  you'll  never  get  a  better 
chance." 

Still  she  held  her  breath  ;  and  he  went  on,  gazing  up- 
wards and  apparently  speaking  to  the  eaves. 

*'  Not  worth  it,  I  suppose  you'll  say  ?  —  Don't  you  make 
too  sure.  Now  if  I  can  get  my  fingers  over  the  launder, 
here  —  "  He  worked  his  way  to  the  right,  to  the  very 
edge  of  the  sill,  and  reached  sideways  and  upwards, 
raising  himself  higher  and  higher  on  tip-toe.  Hetty 
heard  a  warning  grunted  from  below. 

"  No  use,"  he  announced.  ''  I  can't  reach  it  by  six 
inches." 

''  What  are  you  trying  to  do  ?  "  Hetty  asked  in  a  low 
voice,  with  a  hand  over  her  heart. 

**  Why,  there's  a  choke  here  —  dead  leaves  or  some- 
thing—  and  the  roof-water's  running  down  the  side  of 
the  house." 

She  glanced  hurriedly  about  the  room,  stepped  to  the 
fireplace  and  picked  up  a  poker  —  a  small  one  with  a 
crook  at  the  end.  **  Will  this  help  ?  "  she  asked,  passing 
it  out. 

"  Eh  ?  the  very  thing  !  "  He  took  it,  and  presently  she 
heard  it  scraping  on  the  pipe  in  search  of  the  obstruc- 
tion. "  Cleared  it,  by  Jingo  !  and  that's  famous."  He 
lowered  himself  upon  the  flat  of  his  broad  soles.     "You 


HETTY    WESLEY  109 

ought  to  ha'  been  a  plumber's  wife.  My  !  if  I  had  a  head- 
piece like  that  to  think  for  me  —  let  alone  to  look  at !  " 

"Give  me  back  the  poker,  please." 

"  No  tricks,  now  !  "  He  handed  it  back,  chuckled,  and 
lowering  himself  back  to  the  topmost  rung^  of  the  ladder, 
stood  in  safety.  "  You're  as  white  as  a  sheet.  Was  you 
scared  I'd  fall  ?  Lord,  I  like  to  see  you  look  like  that ! 
it  a'most  makes  me  want  to  do  it  again.    Look  here  —  " 

"For  pity's  sake  —  " 

Was  the  man  mad  ?  And  how  was  it  he  held  her  lis- 
tening to  his  intolerable  talk  ?  He  was  actually  scram- 
bling up  to  the  sill  again,  but  paused  with  his  eyes  on 
hers.  "  It  hurts  you  ?  Very  well,  then,  I  won't :  but  I 
owe  you  something  for  that  slap  in  the  face,  you  know." 

"  You  deserved  it !  "  Hetty  exclaimed,  flushing  as  she 
recoiled  from  terror  to  unreasonable  wrath,  and  at  the 
same  moment  hating  herself  for  arguing  with  him. 

"  Did  I  ?  Well,  I  bear  ye  no  malice.  Go  slow,  and 
overlook  offences  —  that's  William  Wright's  way,  and  I've 
no  pride,  so  I  gets  it  in  the  end.  Now  some  men,  after 
being  treated  like  that,  would  have  sat  down  and  wrote 
a  letter  to  your  father  about  your  goings  on.  I  thought  of 
it.  Says  I,  *  It  don't  take  more  than  a  line  from  me,  and 
the  fat's  in  the  fire.'  Mind,  I  don't  say  that  I  won't,  but 
I  ha'n't  done  it  yet.  And  look  here  —  I'm  a  journeyman, 
as  you  know,  and  on  the  tramp  for  jobs.  I  push  on  for 
Lincoln  this  afternoon  ;  and  what  I  say  to  you  before 
leaving  is  this  —  You're  a  lady,  every  inch.  Don't  you 
go  and  make  yourself  too  cheap  with  that  fella.  He's  a 
pretty  man  enough,  but  there  ain't  no  honesty  in  him." 


no  HETTY   WESLEY 

He  was  gone.  Hetty  drew  a  long  breath.  Then, 
having  waited  while  the  ladder  too  was  withdrawn,  she 
fetched  back  the  children  and  set  them  before  their 
copy-books. 

"  Honesty  is  the  best  policy  "  —  She  saw  Master  George 
fairly  started  on  this  text,  with  his  head  on  one  side  and 
his  tongue  working  in  the  corner  of  his  mouth  ;  and 
drawing  out  paper  and  ink  began  to  write  a  letter  home. 

"Dear  Mother  — "  she  wrote,  glanced  at  George's 
copy-book,  then  at  the  window.  Five  minutes  passed. 
She  started  and  thrust  pen  and  paper  back  into  the 
drawer.     Patty  must  write. 


IV 

I.    From  the  Rev.  Samuel   Wesley  to  his  son  Johuy  at 
Christ   Churchy   Oxford 

VJrootey  January  5,  1725. 

DEAR  SON,  —  Your  brother  1  will  receive  £^  for  you 
next  Saturday,  if  Mr.  S.  is  paid  the  ;£io  he  lent 
you  ;  if  not,  I  must  go  to  H.  But  I  promise  you  I  shan't 
forget  that  you  are  my  son,  if  you  do  not  that  I  am 

Your  affectionate  father, 

Samuel  Wesley. 

2.    From  the  same  to  the  same 

Wrooit,  January  26,  1725. 
Dear  Son,  —  I  am  so  well  pleased  with  your  decent  be- 
haviour, or  at  least  with  your  letters,  that  I  hope  I  shall 
not  have  occasion  to  remember  any  more  some  things 
that  are  past ;  and  since  you  have  now  for  some  time  bit 
upon  the  bridle,  I'll  take  care  hereafter  to  put  a  little 
honey  upon  it  as  oft  as  I  am  able.  But  then  it  shall  be 
of  my  own  mero  motu,  as  the  last  £^^  was  ;  for  I  will  bear 
no  rivals  in  my  kingdom. 

1  Samuel  Wesley,  Jun.,  acted  as  John's  banker  from  his  entrance 
at  the  Charterhouse  until  (it  would  seem)  he  took  his  degree  at 
Oxford.  John  had  not  avoided  debts — the  "things  that  are  past" 
alluded  to  in  the  next  letter.  In  May  of  this  year  (1725)  Samuel 
presented  his  balance-sheet,  and,  as  will  be  seen,  it  gave  the  Rector 
a  shock. 

Ill 


112  HETTY   WESLEY 

I  did  not  forget  you  with  Dr.  Morley/  but  have  moved 
that  way  as  much  as  possible  ;  though  I  must  confess, 
hitherto,  with  no  great  prospect  or  hopes  of  success.  As 
for  what  you  mention  of  entering  into  Holy  Orders,  it  is 
indeed  a  great  work  ;  and  I  am  pleased  to  find  you  think 
it  so,  as  well  as  that  you  do  not  admire  a  callow  clergy- 
man any  more  than  I  do. 

And  now  the  providence  of  God  (I  hope  it  was)  has 
engaged  me  in  such  a  work  wherein  you  may  be  very 
assistant  to  me,  I  trust  promote  His  glory  and  at  the  same 
time  notably  forward  your  own  studies  ;  for  I  have  some 
time  since  designed  an  edition  of  the  Holy  Bible,  in 
octavo,  in  the  Hebrew,  Chaldee,  Septuagint,  and  Vulgar 
Latin,  and  have  made  some  progress  in  it :  the  whole 
scheme  whereof  I  have  not  time  at  present  to  give  you,  of 
which  scarce  any  soul  yet  knows  except  your  brother  Sam. 

What  I  desire  of  you  in  this  article  is,  firstly,  that 
you  would  immediately  fall  to  work,  read  diligently 
the  Hebrew  text  in  the  Polyglot,  and  collate  it  exactly 
with  the  Vulgar  Latin,  which  is  in  the  second  column, 
writing  down  all  (even  the  least)  variations  or  differences 
between  them.  To  these  I  would  have  you  add  the 
Samaritan  text  in  the  last  column  but  one,  which  is  the 
very  same  with  the  Hebrew,  except  in  some  very  few 
places,  only  differing  in  the  Samaritan  character  (I  think 
the  true  old  Hebrew),  the  alphabet  whereof  you  may  learn 

1  Dr.  Morley  was  Rector  of  Lincoln  College,  Oxford,  where  already 
John  had  hopes  of  a  fellowship.  The  connection  between  that  College 
and  its  county  was  close  in  those  days  :  and  the  Doctor  held  the  cure 
also  of  Scotton,  near  Gainsborough. 


HETTY   WESLEY  II3 

in  a  day's  time,  either  from  the  Prolegomena  in  Walton's 
Polyglot,  or  from  his  grammar.  In  a  twelvemonth's  time, 
sticking  close  to  it  in  the  forenoons,  you  will  get  twice 
through  the  Pentateuch;  for  I  have  done  it  four  times  the 
last  year,  and  am  going  over  it  the  fifth,  collating  the 
Hebrew  and  two  Greek,  the  Alexandrian  and  the  Vatican, 
with  what  I  can  get  of  Symmachus  and  Theodotian,  etc. 
Nor  shall  you  lose  your  reward  for  it,  either  in  this  or  the 
other  world. 

In  the  afternoon  read  what  you  will,  and  be  sure  to 
walk  an  hour,  if  fair,  in  the  fields.  Get  Thirlby's  Chryso- 
stom  De  Sacerdotio  ;  master  it  —  digest  it.  I  like  your 
verses  on  Psalm  Ixxxv.,  and  would  not  have  you  bury 
your  talent.     All  are  well  and  send  duties. 

Work  and  write  while  you  can.      You  see  Time  has 

shaken  me  by  the  hand,  and  Death  is  but  a  Httle  behind 

him.    My  eyes  and  heart  are  now  almost  all  I  have  left ; 

and  bless  God  for  them.      I  am  not  for  your  going  over- 

hastily  into  Orders.     When  I  am  for  your  taking  them, 

you  shall  know  it. 

Your  affectionate  father, 

Sam.  Wesley. 

3.    From  Mrs.  Wesley  to  her  son  John 

February  2^th,  1725. 

Dear  Jackey,  —  I  was  much  pleased  with  your  letter  to 
your  father  about  taking  Orders,  and  like  the  proposal 
well ;  but  it  is  an  unhappiness  almost  peculiar  to  our 
family  that  your  father  and  I  seldom  think  alike.  I  ap- 
prove the  disposition  of  your  mind  and  think  the  sooner 


114  HETTY   WESLEY 

you  are  a  deacon  the  better,  because  it  may  be  an  induce- 
ment to  greater  application  in  the  study  of  practical 
divinity,  which  I  humbly  conceive  is  the  best  study  for 
candidates  for  Orders.  Mr.  Wesley  differs  from  me,  and 
would  engage  you  (I  believe)  in  critical  learning  ;  which, 
though  accidentally  of  use,  is  in  no  wise  preferable  to  the 
other.  I  dare  advise  nothing  :  God  Almighty  direct  and 
bless  you  !  I  long  to  see  you.  We  hear  nothing  of  Hetty, 
which  gives  us  some  uneasiness.  We  have  all  writ,  but 
can  get  no  answer.     I  wish  all  be  well.     Adieu. 

Susannah  Wesley. 

4.   From  the  Rev.  Samuel  Wesley  to  his  son  John 

'Wxooit,  March  13,  1724-5. 

Dear  Son,  —  I  have  both  yours,  and  have  changed  my 
mind  since  my  last.  I  now  incline  to  your  going  this 
summer  into  Orders.  But  in  the  first  place,  if  you  love 
yourself  or  me,  pray  heartily.  I  will  struggle  hard  but 
I  will  get  money  for  your  Orders,  and  something  more. 
Mr.  Downes  has  spoken  to  Mr.  Morley  about  you,  who 
says  he  will  inquire  of  your  character. 

*'  Trust  in  the  Lord,  and  do  good,  and  verily  thou  shalt 
be  fed."     This,  with  blessing,  from  your  loving  father, 

Samuel  Wesley. 

5.    From  Emilia  Wesley  to  her  brother  John 

Wroote,  April -jth,  1725. 

Dear  Brother,  —  Yours  of  March  7th  I  received,  and 
thank  you  for  your  care  in  despatching  so  speedily  the 
business  I  desired  you  to  do.     It  is  the  last  of  that  kind 


HETTY   WESLEY  II5 

I  shall  trouble  you  with.  No  more  shall  I  write  or  receive 
letters  to  and  from  that  person.  But  lest  you  should  run 
into  a  mistake  and  think  we  have  quarrelled,  I  assure  you 
we  are  perfect  friends;  we  think,  wish,  and  judge  alike, 
but  what  avails  it.''  We  are  both  miserable.  He  has  not 
differed  with  my  mother,  but  she  loves  him  not,  because 
she  esteems  him  the  unlucky  cause  of  a  deep  melan- 
choly in  a  beloved  child.  For  his  own  sake  it  is  that 
I  cease  writing,  because  it  is  now  his  interest  to  for- 
get me. 

Whether  you  will  be  engaged  before  thirty  or  not,  I 
cannot  determine ;  but  if  my  advice  be  worth  listening 
to,  never  engage  your  affections  before  your  worldly 
affairs  are  in  such  a  position  that  you  may  marry  very 
soon.  The  contrary  practice  has  proved  very  pernicious 
in  our  family ;  and  were  I  to  live  my  time  over  again, 
and  had  the  same  experience  as  I  have  now,  w^ere  it  for 
the  best  man  in  England,  I  would  not  wait  one  year.  I 
know  you  are  a  young  man,  encompassed  with  difficul- 
ties, that  has  passed  through  many  hardships  already, 
and  probably  must  through  many  more  before  you  are 
easy  in  the  world;  but,  believe  me,  if  ever  you  come  to 
suffer  the  torment  of  a  hopeless  love,  all  other  afflictions 
will  seem  small  in  comparison  of  it.  And  that  you  may 
not  think  I  speak  at  random,  take  some  account  of  my 
past  life,  more  than  ever  I  spoke  to  anyone. 

After  the  fire,  when  I  was  seventeen  years  old,  I  was 
left  alone  with  my  mother,  and  lived  easy  for  one  year, 
having  most  necessaries,  though  few  diversions,  and 
never  going  abroad.     Yet  after  working  all  day  I  read 


Il6  HETTY   WESLEY 

some  pleasant  book  at  night,  and  was  contented  enough; 
but  after  we  were  gotten  into  our  house,  and  all  the 
family  were  settled,  in  about  a  year's  time  I  began  to 
find  out  that  we  were  ruined.  Then  came  on  London 
journeys.  Convocations  of  blessed  memory,  that  for 
seven  years  my  father  was  at  London,  and  we  at  home 
in  intolerable  want  and  affliction.  Then  I  learnt  what  it 
was  to  seek  money  for  bread,  seldom  having  any  without 
such  hardships  in  getting  it  that  much  abated  the  pleas- 
ure of  it.  Thus  we  went  on,  growing  worse  and  worse ; 
all  us  children  in  scandalous  want  of  necessaries  for  years 
together ;  vast  income,  but  no  comfort  or  credit  with  it. 
Then  I  went  to  London  with  design  to  get  into  some 
service,  failed  of  that,  and  grew  acquainted  with  Ley- 
bourne.  Ever  after  that  I  lived  in  close  correspondence 
with  him.  When  anything  grieved  me,  he  was  my  com 
forter;  and  what  though  our  affairs  grew  no  better,  yet 
I  was  tolerably  easy,  thinking  his  love  suilficient  recom- 
pense for  the  absence  of  all  other  worldly  comforts. 
Then  ill  fate,  in  the  shape  of  a  near  relation,  laid  the 
groundwork  of  my  misery,  and — joined  with  my  mother's 
command  and  my  own  indiscretion  —  broke  the  corre- 
spondence between  him  and  I  [sic']. 

That  dismal  winter  I  shall  ever  remember;  my  mother 
was  sick,  confined  even  to  her  bed,  my  father  in  danger 
of  arrests  every  day.  I  had  a  large  family  to  keep,  and 
a  small  sum  to  keep  it  on ;  and  yet  in  all  this  care  the 
loss  of  Leybourne  was  heaviest.  For  nearly  half  a  year 
I  never  slept  half  a  night,  and  now,  provoked  at  all  my 
relations,  resolved  never  to  marry.    Wishing  to  be  out  of 


HETTY   WESLEY  II7 

their  sight,  I  began  first  to  think  of  going  into  the  world. 
A  vacancy  happening  in  Lincoln  boarding  school,  I  went 
thither;  and  though  I  had  never  so  much  as  seen  one 
before,  I  fell  readily  into  that  way  of  life ;  and  I  was  so 
pleased  to  see  myself  in  good  clothes,  with  money  in  my 
pocket,  and  respected  in  a  strange  manner  by  everyone, 
that  I  seemed  gotten  into  another  world. 

Here  I  lived  five  years  and  should  have  done  longer, 
but  the  school  broke  up  ;  and  my  father  having  got 
Wroote  living,  my  mother  was  earnest  for  my  return.  I 
was  told  what  pleasant  company  was  at  Bawtry,  Doncas- 
ter,  etc.,  and  that  this  addition  to  my  father,  with  God's 
ordinary  blessing,  would  make  him  a  rich  man  in  a  few 
years.  I  came  home  again,  in  an  evil  hour  for  me.  I 
was  well  clothed,  and,  while  I  wanted  nothing,  was  easy 
enough.  But  this  winter,  when  my  own  necessaries  be- 
gan to  decay  and  my  money  was  most  of  it  spent,  I  found 
what  a  condition  I  was  in —  every  trifling  want  was  either 
not  supplied,  or  I  had  more  trouble  to  procure  it  than  it 
was  worth. 

I  know  not  when  we  have  had  so  good  a  year,  both  at 
Wroote  and  Epworth,  as  this  year ;  but  instead  of  saving 
anything  to  clothe  my  sister  or  myself,  we  are  just  where 
we  were.  A  noble  crop  has  almost  all  gone,  beside  Ep- 
worth living,  to  pay  some  part  of  those  infinite  debts  my 
father  has  run  into,  which  are  so  many  (as  I  have  lately 
found  out)  that  were  he  to  save  ^^50  a  year  he  would  not 
be  clear  in  the  world  this  seven  years.  One  thing  I  warn 
you  of  :  let  not  my  giving  you  this  account  be  any  hin- 
drance to  your  affairs.     If  you  want  assistance  in  any 


Il8  HETTY   WESLEY 

case,  my  father  is  as  able  to  give  it  now  as  any  time  these 
last  ten  years ;  nor  shall  we  be  ever  the  poorer  for  it. 
We  enjoy  many  comforts.  We  have  plenty  of  good 
meat  and  drink,  fuel,  etc. ;  have  no  duns,  nor  any  of 
that  tormenting  care  to  provide  bread  which  we  had  at 
Epworth.  In  short,  could  I  lay  aside  all  thoughts  of  the 
future,  and  be  content  with  three  things,  money,  liberty, 
and  clothes,  I  might  live  very  comfortably.  While  my 
mother  lives  I  am  incUned  to  stay  with  her ;  she  is  so 
very  good  to  me,  and  has  so  little  comfort  in  the  world 
beside,  that  I  think  it  barbarous  to  abandon  her.  As 
soon  as  she  is  in  heaven,  or  perhaps  sooner  if  I  am  quite 
tired  out,  I  have  fully  fixed  on  a  state  of  life ;  a  way  in- 
deed that  my  parents  may  disapprove,  but  that  I  do  not 
regard.     And  now 

"  Let  Emma's  hapless  case  be  falsely  told 
By  the  rash  young,  or  the  ill-natured  old." 

You,  that  know  my  hard  fortune,  I  hope  will  never 
hastily  condemn  me  for  anything  I  shall  be  driven  to  do 
by  stress  of  fortune  that  is  not  directly  sinful.  As  for 
Hetty,  we  have  heard  nothing  of  her  these  three  months 
past.  Mr.  Grantham,  I  hear,  has  behaved  himself  very 
honourably  towards  her,  but  there  are  more  gentlemen 
besides  him  in  the  world, 

I  have  quite  tired  you  now.     Pray  be  faithful  to  me. 
Let  me  have  one  relation  I  can  trust:  never  give  any  hint 
to  anyone  of  aught  I  write  to  you :  and  continue  to  love 
Your  unhappy  but  affectionate  sister, 

Emilia  Wesley. 


HETTY  WESLEY  II9 

6.    From  the  Rev.  Samuel  Wesley  to  his  son  John 

Wroote,  May  10,  1725. 
Dear  Son,  —  Your  brother  Samuel  with  his  wife  and 
child  are  here.  I  did  what  I  could  that  you  might  have 
been  in  Orders  this  Trinity ;  but  I  doubt  your  brother's 
journey  hither  has,  for  the  present,  disconcerted  our 
plans,  though  you  will  have  more  time  to  prepare  your- 
self for  Ordination,  which  I  pray  God  you  may,  as  I  am 
your  loving  father,  Samuel  Wesley. 

7.    From  Mrs.  Wesley  to  her  so7iJohn 

WiooiQ,  June  Zth,  1725. 
Dear  Son,  —  I  have  Kempis  by  me ;  but  have  not  read 
him  lately.  I  cannot  recollect  the  passages  you  mention  ; 
but  believing  you  do  him  justice,  I  do  positively  aver 
that  he  is  extremely  wrong  in  that  impious,  I  was  about 
to  say  blasphemous,  suggestion  that  God,  by  an  irre- 
versible decree,  has  determined  any  man  to  be  miserable, 
even  in  this  world.  His  intentions,  as  Himself,  are  holy, 
just,  and  good  ;  and  all  the  miseries  incident  to  men  here 
or  hereafter  spring  from  themselves. 

Your  brother  has  brought  us  a  heavy  reckoning  for 
you  and  Charles.  God  be  merciful  to  us  all !  Dear  Jack, 
I  earnestly  beseech  Almighty  God  to  bless  you.    Adieu. 

Susannah  Wesley. 

8.    From  the  Rev.  Samuel  Wesley  to  his  son  John 

Bawtry,  Septe7nber  1st,  1725. 
Dear   Son,  —  I  came  hither   to-day  because  I  cannot 
be  at  rest  till  I  make  you  easier.     I  could  not  possibly 


120  HETTY   WESLEY 

manufacture  any  money  for  you  here  sooner  than  next 
Saturday.  On  Monday  I  design  to  wait  on  Dr.  Morley, 
and  will  try  to  prevail  with  your  brother  to  return  you 
£S  with  interest.  I  will  assist  you  in  the  charges  for 
Ordination,  though  I  am  just  now  struggling  for  life. 
This  £8  you  may  depend  on  the  next  week,  or  the  week 
after.  S.  Wesley. 

9.    From  the  same  to  the  same 

Gainsborough,  Sept.  yth,  1725. 

Dear  Son  John, — With  much  ado,  you  see  I  am  for 
once  as  good  as  my  word.  Carry  Dr.  Morley's  note  to 
the  bursar.  I  hope  to  send  you  more,  and,  I  believe,  by 
the  same  hand.  God  fit  you  for  your  great  work.  Fast 
—  watch  —  pray  —  endure  —  be  happy ;  towards  which 
you  shall  never  want  the  ardent  prayers  of  your 
affectionate  father,  S.  Wesley. 

On  Sunday,  September  19th,  1725,  John  Wesley, 
being  twenty-two  years  old,  was  ordained  deacon  by 
Dr.  John  Potter,  Bishop  of  Oxford,  in  Christ  Church 
Cathedral. 


V 

/^^F  the  letters  received  from  home  by  him  during  the 
^-^  struggle  to  raise  money  for  his  Ordination  fees, 
the  above  are  but  extracts.  Let  us  go  back  to  the  month 
of  May,  and  to  Kelstein. 

"Patty  dear,"  asked  Hetty  one  morning,  ''have  you 
heard  lately  of  John  Romley?" 

She  was  sitting  up  in  bed  with  a  letter  in  her  hand. 
It  had  come  yesterday ;  and  Patty,  brushing  her  hair 
before  the  glass,  guessed  from  whom.  She  did  not 
answer. 

"  He  is  at  Lincoln ;  he  has  gone  to  try  for  the  pre- 
centorship  of  the  cathedral,"  Hetty  announced. 

"  You  know  perfectly  well  that  we  do  not  correspond. 
I  have  too  much  principle." 

"  I  know,  dear,"  sighed  Hetty,  with  her  eyes  fixed 
meditatively  upon  her  sister's  somewhat  angular  back. 
"  I  hope  he  is  none  the  worse  for  it :  for  I  have  my 
reasons  for  wishing  to  think  of  him  as  a  good  man." 
Patty  paused  with  brush  in  air,  her  eyes  on  Hetty's 
image  in  the  glass ;  but  Hetty  went  on  inconsequently  : 
"  But  surely  you  get  word  of  him,  now  and  then,  in  those 
letters  from  home  which  you  hide  from  me  ?  Patty,  I 
am  a  stronger  woman  than  you  :  and  you  may  think  your- 
self lucky  I  haven't  put  you  through  the  door  before  this, 

121 


122  HETTY   WESLEY 

laid  violent  hands  on  the  whole  budget,  and  read  them 
through  at  my  leisure.  You  invite  it,  too,  by  locking 
them  up  ;  which  against  a  determined  person  would  avail 
nothing  and  is  therefore  merely  an  insult,  my  dear." 

"  You  know  perfectly  well  why  I  do  not  show  you 
my  letters.  They  are  all  crying  out  for  news  of  you  — 
mother,  and  Emmy  and  Molly  :  even  poor  honest  Nan 
breaks  off  writing  about  John  Lambert  and  when  the 
wedding  is  to  be  and  what  she  is  to  wear,  and  begs  to 
hear  if  there  be  anything  wrong.  And  all  I  can  answer 
is,  that  you  are  well,  with  a  line  or  two  about  the  chil- 
dren. They  must  think  me  a  fool,  and  it  has  kept  me 
miserable  ever  since  I  came.  But  more  I  wi/l  not  say. 
At  least  —  "  She  seemed  about  to  correct  herself,  but 
came  to  an  abrupt  halt  and  began  brushing  vigorously. 
Hetty  could  not  see  the  flush  on  her  sallow  face. 

"  Dear  old  Molly  !  "  Hetty  murmured  the  name  of 
her  favourite  sister.  "  But  I  could  not  write  without 
telling  her  and  loading  her  poor  conscience." 

"  Much  you  think  of  conscience,  with  a  letter  from 
him  in  your  hand  at  this  minute ! " 

"  But  I  do  think  of  conscience.  And  the  best  proof 
of  it  is,  I  am  going  home." 

"  Going  home  !  "  Patty  faced  about  now,  and  with  a 
scared  face. 

"  Yes."  Hetty  put  her  feet  out  of  bed  and  sat  for  a 
moment  on  the  edge  of  it.  "  Mrs.  Grantham  paid  me 
my  wages  yesterday,  and  now  I  have  three  pounds  in 
my  pocket.     I  am  going  home  —  to  tell  them." 

"  You  mean  to  tell  them  !  " 


HETTY  WESLEY  1 23 

**  Not  a  doubt  of  it.  But  why  look  as  if  you  had  seen 
a  ghost?" 

*'  And  what  do  you  suppose  will  happen  ? " 

"  Mother  and  Molly  will  cry,  and  Emmy  will  make  an 
oration  which  I  shall  interrupt,  and  Kezzy  will  open  her 
eyes  at  such  a  monster,  and  father  will  want  to  horse- 
whip me,  but  restrain  himself  and  turn  me  from  the 
door.  Or  perhaps  he  will  lock  me  up  —  oh,  Patty,  can- 
not you  see  that  I'm  weeping,  not  joking  ?  But  it  has 
to  be  done,  and  I  am  going  to  be  brave  and  do  it." 

**  Very  well,  then.    Now  listen  to  me.  —  You  cannot." 

"Cannot.?     Why.?" 

"  There's  no  room,  to  begin  with  —  not  a  bed  in  the 
house.  Sam  and  his  wife  are  there,  and  the  child,  on  a 
visit." 

"  Sam  there  !  And  you  never  told  me.  —  Oh,  Pat, 
Pat,  and  I  might  have  missed  him !  "  She  sprang  up 
from  the  bed  and  began  her  dressing  in  a  fever  of  haste. 

"But  what  will  you  do?" 

"Go  home  and  find  Sam,  of  course." 

"  I  don't  see  how  Sam  can  help  you.  He  did  not  help 
Emmy  much  :  and  his  wife  will  be  there,  remember." 

There  was  no  love  lost  betweeen  Sam's  sisters  and 
Sam's  wife  —  a  practical  little  woman  with  a  sharp 
tongue  and  a  settled  conviction  that  her  husband's  rela- 
tives were  little  better  than  lunatics.  She  understood 
the  Rectory's  strict  rules  of  conduct  as  little  as  its  feck- 
less poverty  (for  so  she  called  it).  That  a  household 
which  held  its  head  so  high  should  be  content  with  a 
parlour  furnished  like  a  barn,  sit  down  to  meals  scarcely 


124  HETTY   WESLEY 

better  than  the  day-labourers'  about  them,  and  rest  ig- 
nored by  families  of  decent  position  in  the  neighbour- 
hood, puzzled  and  irritated  her.  "  Better  he  paid  his 
debts  and  fed  his  children,"  was  her  answer  when  Sam 
put  in  a  word  for  his  father's  spiritual  ambitions.  Her 
slight  awe  of  the  Wesleys'  abilities  —  even  she  could  not 
deny  them  brains  —  only  drove  her  to  intrench  herself 
more  strongly  behind  her  practical  wisdom ;  and  she 
never  abandoned  her  position  (which  had  saved  her  in 
a  thousand  domestic  arguments)  that  her  sisters-in-law 
had  been  trained  as  savages  in  the  wilds.  She  had  a 
habit  of  addressing  them  as  children  :  and  her  interfer- 
ence, some  years  before,  between  Emilia  and  young 
Leybourne,  had  been  conducted  by  letter  addressed  to 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wesley  and  without  pretence  of  consulting 
Emilia's  feelings. 

Hetty  pondered  this  for  a  moment,  but  without  pause 
in  her  dressing. 

"  Besides,"  urged  Patty,  "  they  may  be  gone  by  this 
time.  Mother  did  not  say  how  long  the  visit  was  to 
last ;  only  that  Sam  had  brought  his  bill  for  Jacky  and 
Charles,  and  it  is  enormous.  Father  will  be  in  the 
worst  possible  temper." 

''Of  all  the  wet  blankets — "  began  Hetty,  but  was  inter- 
rupted by  the  ringing  of  a  bell  in  the  corner  above  her 
bed.  It  summoned  her  to  run  and  dress  Rebecca,  who 
slept  in  a  small  room  opening  out  of  Mrs.  Grantham's. 

Hetty  departed  in  a  whirl.  Patty  stood  considering. 
"  She  never  would  !  'Tis  a  mercy  sometimes  she  doesn't 
mean  all  she  says." 


HETTY   WESLEY  1 25 

But  this  time  Hetty  meant  precisely  what  she  said. 
Having  dressed  Rebecca,  she  suddenly  faced  upon  Mrs. 
Grantham,  who  stood  watching  her  as  she  turned  back 
the  bed-clothes  to  air  and  folded  the  child's  nightdress. 

"With  your  leave,  madam,  I  wish  to  go  home  to-day." 

"  Bless  my  soul !  "  ejaculated  Mrs.  Grantham.  "  You 
must  be  mad." 

"I  know  how  singular  you  must  think  it:  and  indeed 
I  am  very  sorry  to  put  you  out.  Yet  I  have  a  particular 
reason  for  asking." 

"  Quite  impossible.  Miss  Wesley." 

But,  as  Mr.  Grantham  had  afterwards  to  tell  her,  a 
householder  has  no  means  in  free  England  of  coercing  a 
grown  woman  determined  to  quit  the  shelter  of  his  roof 
and  within  an  hour.  The  poor  lady  was  nonplussed  : 
she  had  not  dreamed  that  life's  tranquil  journey  lay 
exposed  to  a  surprise  at  once  so  simple  and  so  discon- 
certing, and  in  her  vexation  she  came  near  to  hysterics. 

"  What  to  make  of  your  sister,  I  know  not,"  she  cried, 
twenty  minutes  later,  seating  herself  to  have  her  hair 
dressed  by  Patty. 

"  Her  temper  was  always  a  little  uncertain,"  said  Patty 
sagely.  "  I  think  father  spoilt  her  by  teaching  her 
Greek  and  poetry  and  such  things." 

"  Greek !  You  don't  tell  me  that  Greek  makes  a 
person  want  to  walk  out  of  a  comfortable  house  at  a 
moment's  notice  and  leave  my  poor  darlings  on  the 
stream  ! " 

**  Oh,  no,"  agreed  Patty.  "  You  will  not  allow  it,  of 
course .'' " 


126  HETTY  WESLEY 

"  Perhaps  you'll  tell  me  how  to  prevent  it  ?  In  all  my 
life  I  don't  remember  being  so  much  annoyed." 

So  Hetty  had  her  way,  packed  a  small  bundle,  and 
was  ready  at  the  gate  for  the  passing  of  the  carrier's  van 
which  would  set  her  down  within  a  mile  of  home.  She 
had  acted  on  an  impulse,  unreasoning,  but  not  to  be 
resisted.  She  felt  the  crisis  of  her  life  approaching  and 
had  urgent  need,  before  it  came  on  her,  to  make  confes- 
sion and  cleanse  her  soul.  She  knew  she  was  hurrying 
towards  a  tempest ;  but,  whatever  it  might  wreck,  she 
panted  for  the  clear  sky  beyond.  In  her  fever  the  van 
seemed  to  crawl  and  the  miles  to  drag  themselves  out 
interminably. 

She  was  within  a  mile  of  her  journey's  end  when  a 
horseman  met  and  passed  the  van  at  a  jog-trot.  Hetty 
glanced  after  him,  wrenched  open  the  door  and  sprang 
out  upon  the  road  with  a  cry  — 

"Father!" 

Mr.  Wesley  heard  her  and  turned  his  head ;  then 
reined  up  the  filly  and  came  slowly  back.  The  van  was 
at  a  standstill,  the  driver  craning  his  head  and  staring 
aft  in  wholly  ludicrous  bewilderment. 

''Dropped  anything.?"  he  asked,  as  Hetty  ran  to 
him.  She  thrust  the  fare  into  his  hand  without  answer- 
ing and  faced  around  again  to  meet  her  father. 

He  came  slowly,  with  set  jaws.  He  offered  no  greeting. 

"  I  was  expecting  this,"  he  said.  "  Indeed,  I  was  rid- 
ing to  Kelstein  to  fetch  you  home." 

"  But  —  but  why  ?  "  she  stammered. 

"Why?"     A  short   savage   laugh  broke   from   him, 


HETTY   WESLEY  12/ 

almost  like  a  dog's  bark ;  but  he  held  his  temper  down. 
"  Because  I  do  not  choose  to  have  a  decent  household 
infected  by  a  daughter  of  mine.  Because,  if  sisters  of 
yours  must  needs  be  exposed  to  the  infection,  it  shall  be 
where  I  am  present  to  watch  them  and  control  you.  I 
have  received  a  letter  —  " 

She  stared  at  him  dismayed,  remembering  the  man 
Wright  and  his  threat. 

''  And  upon  that  you  judge  me,  without  a  hearing  ?  " 
She  let  her  arms  drop  beside  her. 

"  Will  you  deny  it }  Will  you  deny  you  have  been 
in  the  habit  of  meeting  —  no,  I  see  you  will  not.  Ap- 
parently Mrs.  Grantham  has  dismissed  you." 

"  Sir,  Mrs.  Grantham  has  not  dismissed  me.  I  came 
away  against  her  wish,  because  —  " 

"  Well  ^  "     He  waited,  chewing  his  wrath. 

It  was  idle  now  to  say  she  had  come  meaning  to  con- 
fess.    That  chance  had  gone. 

"  I  ask  you  to  remember,  sir,  that  I  never  promised 
not  to  meet  him."  Since  a  fight  it  must  be,  she  picked 
up  all  her  courage  for  it.  "  I  had  no  right  to  promise  it." 

His  mouth  opened,  but  shut  again  like  a  trap.  He 
had  the  self-control  to  postpone  battle.  "  We  will  see 
about  that,"  he  said  grimly.  *'  Meanwhile,  please  you 
mount  behind  me  and  ride." 

As  they  jogged  towards  Wroote,  Hetty,  holding  on 
by  her  father's  coat,  seemed  to  feel  in  her  finger-tips  the 
wrath  pent  up  and  working  in  his  small  body.  She  was 
profoundly  dejected  ;  so  profoundly  that  she  almost  for- 
got to  be  indignant  with  William  Wright ;  but  she  had 


128  HETTY   WESLEY 

no  thought  of  striking  her  colours.  She  built  some  hope 
upon  Sam,  too.  Sam  might  not  take  her  part  openly, 
but  he  at  least  had  always  been  kind  to  her. 

''Does  Sam  know.?"  she  took  heart  to  ask  as  they 
came  in  sight  of  the  parsonage. 

''  Sam  .?  " 

"  Patty  tells  me  he  is  here  with  his  wife  and  little 
Philly." 

"  I  am  glad  to  say  Patty  is  mistaken.  They  took  their 
departure  yesterday." 


VI 

OH,  Hetty  !  "  was  all  Molly  could  find  to  say,  rush- 
ing into  the  back  garret  where  Hetty  stood 
alone,  and  clinging  to  her  with  a  long  kiss. 

Hetty  held  the  dear  deformed  body  against  her  bosom 
for  a  while,  then  relaxing  her  arms,  turned  towards  the 
small  window  in  the  eaves.  "  My  dear,"  she  answered 
with  a  wry  smile,  "  it  had  to  come,  you  see,  and  now  we 
must  go  through  with  it." 

"  But  who  could  have  written  that  wicked  letter .? 
Mother  will  not  tell  us  —  even  if  she  knows,  which  I 
doubt." 

"  I  fancy  I  know.  And  you  must  not  exaggerate, 
even  in  your  love  for  me.  I  don't  suppose  the  letter 
was  wicked,  though  it  may  have  been  spiteful." 

"  It  accused  you  of  the  most  dreadful  things." 

"  If  it  be  dreadful  to  meet  the  man  you  love,  and  in 
secret,  then  I  have  been  behaving  dreadfully." 

"O-oh!" 

"And  that  is  just  what  I  came  home  to  confess." 
She  paused  at  the  sight  of  Molly's  face.  "  What,  are 
you  against  me,  too  ?  Then  I  must  fight  this  out  alone, 
it  seems." 

"  Darling  Hetty,  you  must  not  —  ah,  don't  look  so  at 

me!" 

K  129 


130 


HETTY  WESLEY 


But  Hetty  turned  her  back.     "  Please  leave  me." 

"  If  you  had  only  written  —  " 

"  That  would  take  long  to  explain.  I  am  tired,  and 
it  is  not  worth  while  ;  please  leave  me." 

''  But  you  do  not  understand.  I  had  to  come,  although 
for  the  time   father   has   forbidden   us  to    speak   with 

you  — 

Hetty  stepped  to  the  door  and  held  it  open.  "  Then 
one  of  his  daughters  at  any  rate  shall  be  dutiful,"  she 

said. 

Molly  flung  her  an  imploring  look  and  walked  out, 

sobbing. 

*'  Is  Hetty  not  coming  down  to  supper  ? "  Emilia 
asked  in  the  kitchen  that  evening.  Mrs.  Wesley  with 
her  daughters  and  Johnny  Whitelamb  supped  there  as 
a  rule  when  not  entertaining  visitors.  The  Rector  took 
his  meals  alone,  in  the  parlour. 

"  Your  father  has  locked  her  in.  Until  to-morrow  he 
forbids  her  to  have  anything  but  bread  and  water," 
answered  Mrs.  Wesley. 

"  And  she  is  twenty-seven  years  old,"  added  Molly. 

All  looked  at  her ;  even  Johnny  Whitelamb  looked, 
with  a  face  as  long  as  a  fiddle.  The  comment  was 
quiet,  but  the  note  of  scorn  in  it  could  not  be  mistaken. 
Molly  in  revolt!  Molly,  of  all  persons!  Molly  sat 
trembling.  She  knew  that  among  them  all  Johnny  was 
her  one  ally— and  a  hopelessly  distressed  and  ineffective 
one.  He  had  turned  his  head  quickly  and  leaned  for- 
ward, blinking  and  spreading  his  hands  —  though  the 
season  was  high  summer  —  to  the  cold  embers  of  the 


HETTY   WESLEY  131 

kitchen  fire,  his  heart  torn  between  adoration  of  Hetty 
and  the  old  dog-like  worship  of  his  master. 

"  Molly  dear,  she  has  deceived  him  and  us  all,"  was 
Mrs.  Wesley's  reproof,  unexpectedly  gentle. 

**  For  my  part,"  put  in  Nancy  comfortably,  "  I  don't 
suppose  she  would  care  to  come  down.  And  'tis  cosy 
to  be  back  in  the  kitchen  again,  after  ten  days  of  the 
parlour  and  Mrs.  Sam.     Emmy  agrees,  I  know." 

But  Emmy  with  fine  composure  put  aside  this  allusion 
to  her  pet  foe.  "  Molly  and  Johnny  should  make  a  match 
of  it,"  she  sneered.  "They  might  set  up  house  on  their 
belief  in  Hetty,  and  even  take  her  to  lodge  with  them." 

John  Whitelamb  sprang  up  as  if  stung ;  stood  for  a 
moment,  still  with  his  face  averted  upon  the  fire ;  then, 
while  all  stared  at  him,  let  drop  the  arm  he  had  half 
lifted  towards  the  mantel-shelf  and  relapsed  into  his 
chair.     He  had  not  uttered  a  sound. 

Mrs.  Wesley  had  a  reproof  upon  her  tongue,  and  this 
time  a  sharp  one.  She  was  prevented,  however,  by 
Molly,  who  rose  to  her  feet,  tottered  to  the  door  as  if 
wounded,  and  escaped  from  the  kitchen. 

Molly  mounted  the  stairs  with  bowed  head,  dragging 
herself  at  each  step  by  the  handrail.  Reaching  the 
garrets,  she  paused  by  Hetty's  door  to  listen.  No  light 
pierced  the  chinks  ;  within  was  silence.  She  crept  away 
to  her  room,  undressed,  and  lay  down,  sobbing  quietly. 

Her  sobs  ceased,  but  she  could  not  sleep.  A  full  moon 
strained  its  rays  through  the  tattered  curtain,  and  as  it 
climbed,  she  watched  the  panel  of  light  on  the  wall  op- 
posite steal  down  past  a  text  above  the  washstand,  past 


132  HETTY   WESLEY 

the  washstand  itself,  to  the  bare  flooring.  **  God  is  love  " 
said  the  text,  and  Molly  had  paid  a  pedlar  twopence  for 
it,  years  before,  at  Epworth  fair  —  quite  unaware  that  she 
was  purchasing  the  Wesley  family  motto.  She  heard 
her  mother  and  sisters  below  bid  one  another  good-night 
and  mount  to  their  rooms.  An  hour  later  her  father 
went  his  round,  locking  up.     Then  came  silence. 

Suddenly  she  sat  up  in  her  bed.  She  had  heard  —  yes, 
surely  —  Hetty's  voice.  It  seemed  to  come  from  outside, 
close  below  her  window —  Hetty's  ordinary  voice,  with  no 
distress  in  it,  speaking  some  words  she  could  not  catch. 
She  listened.  Actual  sound  or  illusion,  it  was  not  re- 
peated. She  climbed  out  of  bed  and  drew  the  curtain 
aside.  Bright  moonlight  lay  spread  all  about  the  house, 
and,  beyond,  the  fen-land  faded  away  to  an  unseen  hori- 
zon as  through  veils  of  gold  and  silver,  asleep,  no  crea- 
ture stirring  on  the  face  of  it. 

She  let  drop  the  corner  of  the  curtain  and  on  the 
instant  caught  it  back  again.  A  dark  form,  quick  and 
noiseless,  slipped  past  the  shadow  by  the  yard-gate.  It 
was  Rag  the  mastiff,  left  unchained  at  night :  and  as  he 
padded  across  the  yard  in  the  full  moonlight,  Molly  saw 
that  he  was  wagging  his  tail. 

She  watched  him  to  his  kennel ;  stepped  to  her  door, 
lifted  the  latch  cautiously  and  stole  once  more  along  the 
passage  to  Hetty's  room. 

"  Hetty  !  "  she  whispered.  "  Hetty  dear  !  Were  you 
calling .-^  Is  anything  wrong.?"  She  shook  the  door 
gently.  No  answer  came.  Mr.  Wesley  had  left  the 
key  in  the  lock  after  turning  it  on  the  outside :  and  still 


HETTY  WESLEY  1 33 

whispering  to  her  sister,  Molly  wrenched  it  round,  little 
by  little.  No  one  stirred  below-stairs  :  no  one  answered 
within.  She  pushed  the  door  open  an  inch  or  two,  then 
wider,  pausing  as  it  creaked.  A  draught  of  the  warm 
night-wind  met  her  as  she  slipped  into  the  room,  and  — 
her  fingers  trembling  and  missing  their  hold  —  the  door 
fell-to  behind  her,  almost  with  a  slam. 

She  stood  still,  her  heart  in  her  mouth.  In  her  ears 
the  noise  was  loud  enough  to  awake  the  house.  But  as 
the  seconds  dragged  by  and  still  no  sound  came  from 
her  father's  room,  **  Hetty  !  "  she  whispered  again. 

Her  eyes  w^ere  on  the  bed  as  she  whispered  it,  and  in 
the  pale  Hght  the  bed  was  patently  empty.  Still  she  did 
not  comprehend.  Her  eyes  wandered  from  it  to  the 
open  window. 

When  she  spoke  again  it  was  with  the  same  low  whis- 
per, but  a  whisper  which  broke  as  she  breathed  it  to 
follow  where  it  might  not  reach. 

"  What  have  they  done  to  you }  My  darling,  God 
watch  over  you  now  !  " 

She  crept  back  to  her  room  and  lay  shivering,  waiting 
for  the  dawn. 


BOOK  III 


PROLOGUE 


IN  a  chilly  dawn,  high  among  the  mountains  to  the 
north  of  Berar,  two  Britons  were  wandering  with 
an  Indian  attendant.  They  came  like  spectres,  in  curl- 
ing wreaths  of  mist  that  magnified  their  stature,  and 
daylight  cowed  each  with  the  first  glimpse  of  his  com- 
rade's face,  yellow  with  hunger  and  glassy-eyed  with 
lack  of  sleep.  They  were,  in  fact,  hopelessly  lost. 
They  had  spent  the  night  huddled  together  on  a  narrow 
ledge,  listening  hour  by  hour  to  the  sound  of  water 
tumbling  over  unknown  precipices  ;  and  now  they 
moved  with  painful  cramped  Hmbs,  yet  listlessly, 
being  past  hope  to  escape  or  to  see  another  dawn. 

The  elder  Briton  was  a  Scotsman,  aged  fifty  or 
thereabouts,  a  clerk  of  the  H.E.I. C;  the  younger  an 
Englishman  barely  turned  twenty,  an  officer  in  the 
same  company's  service.  They  hailed  from  Surat,  and 
had  arrived  in  Berar  on  a  trade  mission  with  an  escort 
of  fifty  men,  of  whom  their  present  attendant,  Bhagwan 
Dass,  was  the  solitary  survivor ;  and  this  came  of  be- 
lieving that  a  "protection"  from  the  Nizam  would  carry 
them  anywhere  in  the  Nizam's  supposed  dominions, 
whereas  the  de  facto  rulers  of  Berar  were  certain  Mah- 


^JD 


136  HETTY   WESLEY 

ratta  chieftains  who  collected  its  taxes  and  who  had 
politely  forwarded  the  mission  into  the  fastnesses  of  the 
mountains.    There,  at  the  ripe  moment,  the  massacre  had 
taken  place,  Mr.  Menzies  and  young  Prior  escaping  on 
their  hill-ponies,  with  Bhagwan  Dass  clutching  at  Prior's 
stirrup-leather.     The  massacre  having  been  timed  a  little 
before   nightfall,    darkness    helped   them   to  get   clear 
away :  but  Menzies,  by  over-riding  his  little  mare,  flung 
her,  an  hour  later,  with  a  broken  fetlock,  and  Prior's 
pony  being  all  but  dead-beat,  they  abandoned  the  poor 
brutes  on    the    mountain-side,  took   to   their   feet  and 
stumbled  on  until  the  setting  of  the  young  moon.     With 
the  first  Hght  of  dawn  they  had  roused  themselves  to 
start   anew,  lingering  out  the    agony:    for   the    slopes 
below  swarmed  with  enemies  in  chase,  and  even  if  a 
village  lurked    in    these   heights  the  inhabitants  would 
give  no  help,  being  afraid  of  their  Mahratta  masters. 
They  had  crossed  a  gully  through  which  a  mountain 
runlet   descended,  unrolling  a  ribbon  of   green  mossy 
herbage  on  its  way,  and  sUpping  out  of  sight  over  a 
precipice  two  hundred  yards  below.     Beyond  this  the 
eye  saw  nothing  but  clouds  of  mist  heaving  and  smok- 
ing to  the  very  edge  of  the  fall.     Young  Prior  halted 
for  a  moment  on  the  farther  slope  to  take  breath,  and 
precisely  at  that  moment  something  happened  which  he 
lived  to  relate  a  hundred  times  and  always  with  wonder. 
For  as  his  eye  fell  on  these  clouds  of  mist,  a  beam  of 
light  came  travelling  swiftly  down  the  mountain  and 
pierced  them,  turning  them  to  a  fierce  blood-red ;  next, 
almost  with  an   audible  rush,  the  sun  leapt  into  view 


HETTY   WESLEY  1 37 

over  the  eastern  spurs  :  and  while  he  stared  down  upon 
the  vapours  writhing  and  bleeding  under  this  lance- 
thrust  of  dawn  —  while  they  shook  themselves  loose  and 
trailed  away  in  wreaths  of  crimson  and  gold  and  violet, 
and  deep  in  the  chasms  between  them  shone  the  plain 
with  its  tilled  fields  and  villages  —  a  cry  from  Bhagwan 
Dass  fetched  him  round  sharply,  and  he  beheld,  a  few 
yards  above  him  on  the  slope,  a  man. 

The  man  sat,  naked  to  the  waist,  at  the  entrance  of  a 
low  cave  or  opening  in  the  hillside.  He  seemed  to  be 
of  great  age,  with  a  calm  and  almost  unwrinkled  face 
and  gray  locks  falling  to  his  shoulders,  around  which 
hung  a  rosary  of  black  beads,  very  highly  pohshed  and 
flashing  against  the  sun.  From  the  waist  down  he  was 
wrapped  in  a  bright  yellow  shawl,  and  beside  him  lay  a 
crutch  and  a  wooden  bowl  heaped  with  rice  and  conserves. 

Before  the  two  Britons  could  master  their  dismay, 
Bhagwan  Dass  had  run  towards  the  cave  and  was  im- 
ploring the  holy  man  to  give  them  shelter  and  hiding. 
For  a  while  he  listened  merely,  and  his  first  response 
was  to  lift  the  bowl  and  invite  them  with  a  gesture  to 
stay  their  hunger.  Famished  though  they  were  they 
hesitated,  and  reading  the  reason  in  their  eyes,  he  spoke 
for  the  first  time. 

"  It  will  not  harm  you,"  said  he  in  Hindustani :  ''and 
the  villagers  below  bring  me  more  than  I  can  eat." 

From  the  moment  of  setting  eyes  on  him  —  Prior 
used  to  declare  —  a  blessed  sense  of  protection  fell  upon 
the  party ;  a  feeling  that  in  the  hour  of  extreme  need 
God  had  suddenly  put  out  a  shield,  under  the  shadow 


138  HETTY  WESLEY 

of  which  they  might  rest  in  perfect  confidence.  And 
indeed,  though  they  knew  the  mountain  to  be  swarming 
with  their  enemies,  they  entered  the  cave  and  slept  all 
that  day  like  children.  Whether  or  no  meanwhile  their 
enemies  drew  near  they  never  discovered  :  but  Prior, 
awaking  towards  nightfall,  saw  the  hermit  still  seated  at 
the  entrance  as  they  had  found  him,  and  lay  for  a  while 
listening  to  the  click  of  his  rosary  as  he  told  bead  after 
bead. 

He  must,  however,  have  held  some  communication 
with  the  unseen  village  in  the  valley  :  for  three  bowls  of 
milk  and  rice  stood  ready  for  them.  They  supped,  for- 
bearing—  upon  Bhagwan  Dass's  advice — to  question 
him,  though  eager  to  know  if  he  had  a  mind  to  help 
them  further,  and  how  he  might  contrive  it.  Until 
moonrise  he  gave  no  sign  at  all;  then  rising  gravely, 
crutch  and  bowl  in  hand,  stepped  a  pace  or  two  beyond 
the  entrance  and  whistled  twice  —  as  they  supposed  for 
a  guide.  But  the  only  guides  that  answered  were  two 
small  mountain  foxes  —  a  vixen  and  her  half-grown  cub 

—  that  came  bounding  around  an  angle  of  the  rock  and 
fawned  about  his  feet  while  he  caressed  them  and  spoke 
to  them  softly  in  a  tongue  which  none  of  the  party 
understood.  And  so  they  all  set  out,  turning  their  faces 
westward  and  keeping  to  the  upper  ridges  ;  the  foxes 
trotting  always  a  few  paces  ahead  and  showing  the  way. 

All  that  night  they  walked  as  in  a  dream,  and  came 
at  daybreak  to  a  ledge  with  a  shrine  upon  it,  and  in  the 
shrine  a  stone  figure  of  a  goddess,  and  below  the  ledge 

—  perhaps   half   a   mile   below  it  —  a   village   clinging 


HETTY   WESLEY  1 39 

dizzily  to  the  mountain-side.  There  was  no  food  in  the 
shrine,  only  a  few  withered  wreaths  of  marigolds :  but 
the  holy  man  must  have  spoken  to  his  foxes,  for  at 
dawn  a  priest  came  toiling  up  the  slope  with  a  filled  bowl 
so  ample  that  his  two  arms  scarcely  embraced  it.  The 
priest  set  down  the  food,  took  the  hermit's  blessing  and 
departed  in  silence  :  and  this  was  the  only  human  crea- 
ture they  saw  on  their  journey.  Not  for  all  their  solicita- 
tion would  the  hermit  join  them  in  eating :  and  at  this 
they  marvelled  most  of  all :  for  he  had  walked  far  and 
moderately  fast,  yet  seemed  to  feel  less  fatigue  than 
any  of  them.  That  night,  as  soon  as  the  moon  rose,  he 
started  afresh  with  the  same  long  easy  stride,  and  the 
foxes  led  the  way  as  before. 

The  dawn  rose,  but  this  time  he  gave  no  signal  for 
halting :  and  the  cool  of  morning  was  almost  ended 
when  he  led  them  out  through  the  last  broken  crests  of 
the  ridge  and,  pointing  to  a  broad  plain  at  their  feet, 
told  them  that  henceforward  they  might  fare  in  safety. 
A  broad  road  traversed  the  plain,  and  beside  it,  some 
ten  to  twelve  miles  from  the  base  of  the  foothills, 
twinkled  the  white  walls  of  a  rest-house. 

"There,"  said  he,  pointing,  "either  to-day  or  to-mor- 
row will  pass  the  trader  Afzul  Khan :  and  if  indeed  ye 
come  from  Surat — " 

His  mild  eyes,  as  he  pointed,  were  turned  upon  Men- 
zies,  who  broke  out  in  amazement :  "  For  certain  Afzul 
Khan  is  known  to  us,  as  debtor  should  be  to  creditor. 
But  how  knowest  thou  either  that  he  passes  this  way 
or  that  we  come  from  Surat } " 


140 


HETTY   WESLEY 


"  It  is  enough  that  I  know." 

"Either  come  with  us  then,"  Menzies  pressed  him, 
"  and  at  the  rest-house  Afzul  Khan  shall  fill  thy  bowl 
with  gold-dust;  or  remain  here,  and  I  will  send  him." 

"  Why  should  he  do  aught  so  witless  } " 

Menzies  laughed  awkwardly.  "  Though  money  be 
useless  to  thee,  holy  man,  I  dare  say  thy  villagers 
might  be  the  gladder  for  it." 

The  hermit  shook  his  head. 

"Anyhow,"  broke  in  Prior,  addressing  Menzies  in 
English,  "we  must  do  somethi7ig  for  him,  if  only  in 
justice  to  some  folks  who  will  be  glad  enough  to  see 
us  back  alive." 

"My  friend  here,"  Menzies  interpreted,  "has  parents 
living  and  is  their  only  son.  For  me,  I  have  a  wife  and 
three  children.     For  their  sakes,  therefore  —  " 

But  the  hermit  put  up  a  hand.  "Something  I  did 
for  their  sakes,  giving  you  back  to  the  chains  they  will 
hang  upon  you.  It  was  weakness  in  me,  and  no  cause 
for  thanks."  He  turned  his  begging  bowl  so  that  it 
shone  in  the  sun:  an  ant  clung  to  it,  crawling  on  its 
polished  side.  "  If  ye  have  sons,  I  may  live  belike  to 
see  them  pass  my  way." 

"  That  is  not  likely." 

"Who  knows.?"  The  old  man's  eyes  rested  on 
Bhagwan  Dass.  "Unlikelier  things  have  befallen 
me  while  I  sat  yonder.  See  —  "  he  turned  the  bowl 
in  his  hand  and  nodded  towards  the  ant  running  hither 
and  thither  upon  it.  "What  happens  to  him  that 
would  not  likewise  happen  if  he  stood  still } " 


HETTY  WESLEY  141 

"There  is  food  at  the  rest-house,"  Menzies  persisted; 
"  but  I  take  it  you  can  find  food  on  your  way  back, 
even  though  since  starting  we  have  seen  none  pass 
your  Ups :     and  that  is  two  days." 

"  It  will  be  yet  two  days  before  I  feast  again :  for  I 
drink  not  save  of  the  spring  by  which  you  found  me, 
and  I  eat  no  food  the  taste  of  which  I  cannot  wash 
from  me  in  its  water." 

Menzies  and  Prior  eyed  one  another.  "  Cracked  as  an 
old  bell !  "  said  the  younger  man  in  English,  and  laughed. 

"  Is  it  a  vow  }  "  Menzies  asked. 

"  It  is  a  vow." 

**  But  tell  me,"  put  in  Prior,  "  does  the  water  of  your 
spring  differ  from  that  of  a  thousand  others  on  these 
hills .? " 

"The  younger  sahib,"  answered  the  hermit,  "under- 
stands not  the  meaning  of  a  vow ;  which  a  man  makes 
to  his  own  hurt,  perhaps,  or  to  the  hurt  of  another,  or 
it  may  even  be  quite  foolishly ;  but  thereby  he  stab- 
lishes  his  life,  while  the  days  of  other  men  go  by  in 
a  flux  of  business.  As  for  the  water  of  my  hillside," 
he  went  on  with  a  sharp  change  of  voice  and  speaking, 
to  their  amazement,  in  English,  "  have  not  your  coun- 
trymen, O  sahibs,  their  particular  springs  .''  Churchman 
and  Dissenter,  Presbyterian  and  Baptist  —  count  they 
not  every  Jordan  above  Abana  and  Pharpar,  rivers  of 
Damascus? " 

He  turned  and  walked  swiftly  from  them,  mounting 
the  slope  with  swift  loose  strides.  But  while  they  stared, 
Bhagwan  Dass  broke  from  them,  and  ran  in  pursuit. 


142  HETTY   WESLEY 

"  Not  without  thy  blessing  !  O  Annesley  sahib,  go 
not  before  thou  hast  blessed  me  !  " 

Two  days  later,  at  sunset,  a  child  watching  a  little 
below  the  hermit's  spring  saw  him  limp  back  to  it  and 
drink  and  seat  himself  again  at  the  entrance  of  the  cave  ; 
and  pelted  down  to  the  village  with  the  news.  And  the 
hill-people,  who  had  supposed  him  gone  for  ever,  swarmed 
up  and  about  the  cave  to  assure  themselves. 

"  Alas  !  "  said  the  holy  man,  gazing  out  upon  the  twi- 
light when  at  length  all  had  departed,  leaving  him  in 
peace.  "  Cannot  a  man  be  anywhere  alone  with  God  ? 
And  yet,"  he  added,  "  I  was  something  wistful  for  their 
love." 


"  To  the  Lord  otir  God  belong  mercies  and  forgiveness^  though  we 
have  rebelled  against  him  :  neither  have  we  obeyed  the  voice  of  the 
Lord  our  God,  to  walk  in  his  laws  which  he  set  before  us.  O  Lord, 
correct  me,  but  with  judgement ;  not  in  thine  anger,  lest  thou  brijig 
me  to  nothing.'''' 

THE  voice  travelled  down  the  great  nave  of  Lincoln 
Cathedral,  and,  as  it  came,  the  few  morning  wor- 
shippers —  it  was  a  week-day  —  inclined  their  faces  up- 
wards :  for  it  seemed  to  pause  and  float  overhead  and 
again  be  carried  forward  by  its  own  impulse,  a  pure  column 
of  sound  wavering  awhile  before  it  broke  and  spread  and 
dissolved  into  whispers  among  the  multitudinous  arches. 
To  a  woman  still  kneeling  by  a  pillar  close  within  the 
western  doorway  it  was  as  the  voice  of  a  seraph  speaking 
with  the  dawn,  fresh  from  his  night-watch  over  earth. 
She  had  been  kneeling  for  minutes,  and  still  knelt,  but 
she  could  not  pray.  She  had  no  business  to  be  there.  To 
her  the  sentences  carried  no  message  ;  but  the  voice  smit- 
ing, pure  and  cold,  across  the  hot  confusion  in  her  brain, 
steadied  her  while  it  terrified. 

Yet  she  knew  the  voice  well  enough.  It  was  but  John 
Romley's.  The  Dean  and  Chapter  wanted  a  precentor, 
and  among  a  score  of  candidates  had  selected  Romley  and 
two  others  for  further  trial.  This  was  his  chance  and  he 
was  using  it ;  making  the  most  of  it,  too,  to  the  mingled 

143 


144 


HETTY   WESLEY 


admiration  and  disgust  of  his  rivals  listening  in  the  choir 

beside  him. 

And  she  had  dressed  early  and  climbed  to  the  cathedral, 
not  to  pray,  but  to  seek  Romley  because  she  had  instant 
need  of  him;  because,  though  she  respected  his  character 
very  little,  he  was  the  one  man  in  the  world  who  could 
help  her.  She  had  missed  him  at  the  door  :  entering,  she 
learned  from  a  verger  that  he  was  already  robing.  Then 
the  great  organ  sounded,  and  from  habit  she  dropped  on 
her  knees. 

John  Romley,  unseen  in  the  choir,  was  something  very 
different  from  John  Romley  in  private  life  with  his  loose 
face  and  flabby  handshake.  Old  Mr.  Wesley  had  once 
dismissed  him  contemptuously  as  vox  et  praeterea  nihil: 
but  disembodied  thus,  almost  a  thing  celestial,  yet  subtly 
recalling  home  to  her  and  ties  renounced,  the  voice  shook 
Hetty's  soul.  For  it  came  on  her  as  the  second  shock 
of  an  ambush.  She  had  cUmbed  to  the  cathedral  with 
but  half  of  her  senses  awake,  drowsed  by  love,  by  the 
long  ride  in  the  languorous  night  wind,  by  the  exhaustion 
of  a  long  struggle  ended,  by  her  wondering  helplessness 
on  arriving  —  the  chill  sunHght,  the  deserted  street,  the 
strange  voice  behind  the  lodging-house  door,  the  un- 
familiar passage  and  stairs.  She  had  lived  a  lifetime 
in  those  hours,  and  for  the  while  Wroote  Parsonage  lay 
remote  as  a  painful  daily  round  from  the  dream  which 
follows  it.  Only  the  practical  instinct,  as  it  were  a  nerve 
in  the  centre  of  her  brain,  awake  and  refusing  to  be 
drugged,  had  kept  sounding  its  alarm  to  rise  and  seek 
Romley;  and  though  at  length  she  obeyed  in  a  panic. 


HETTY   WESLEY  145 

she  went  as  one  walking  in  sleep.  The  front  of  the 
cathedral,  as  she  came  beneath  its  shadow,  overhung 
her  as  a  phantom  drawn  upon  the  morning  sky,  its  tall 
towers  unsubstantial,  trembling  against  the  light,  but 
harmless  even  should  they  fall  upon  her.  She  entered 
as  one  might  pass  through  a  paper  screen. 

The  first  shock  came  upon  her  then.  She  passed  not 
out  of  sunlight  into  sunlight,  but  out  of  sunlight  into  a 
vast  far-reaching,  high-arching  gloom,  which  was  another 
world  and  another  life ;  the  solemn  twilight  which  her 
upbringing  had  taught  her  to  associate  with  God.  Once 
before  in  her  life,  and  once  only,  she  had  stood  within 
the  minster  —  on  her  confirmation  day,  when  she  had 
entered  with  her  hand  in  her  mother's.  Her  eyes  sought 
and  found  the  very  place  where  she  had  sat  then  among 
the  crowd  of  girl-candidates,  and  a  ghost  in  a  white  frock 
sat  there  still  with  bowed  head.  She  remembered  the 
very  texture  and  scent  of  that  white  frock :  they  came 
back  with  the  awe,  the  fervour,  the  passionate  desire  to 
be  good,  and  these  memories  cried  all  in  her  ears,  "  What 
have  you  to  do  with  that  child  ?  Which  of  you  is  Hetty  ? 
You  cannot  both  be  real." 

They  sang  in  her  ears  while  she  questioned  the  verger 
about  Romley.  He  had  to  repeat  his  answers  before  she 
thanked  him  and  turned  towards  one  of  the  lowest  seats. 
She  did  not  repent :  she  was  not  thinking  of  repentance. 
She  loved,  she  had  given  all  for  love,  and  life  was  fuller 
of  beautifying  joy  than  ever  it  had  been  even  on  that  day 
of  confirmation  :  but  beneath  the  joy  awoke  a  small  ache, 
and  with  the  ache  a  certain  knowledge  that  she  might 


146  HETTY  WESLEY 

never  sit  beside  the  child  in  white,  never  so  close  as  to 
touch  her  frock ;  that  their  places  in  this  building,  God's 
habitation,  were  eternally  separate. 

Then  the  organ  ceased,  and  the  voice  began  to  speak. 
And  the  voice  uttered  promise  of  pardon,  but  Hetty 
heard  nothing  of  the  words  —  only  the  notes. 

"  And  they  heard  the  voice  of  the  Lord  God  walking  in 
the  garden  in  the  cool  of  the  day :  and  Adam  and  his  wife 
hid  themselves  from  the  prese^ice  of  the  Lo7'd  God  among 
the  trees  of  the  garden.'' 

Less  terrible  this  voice  was  ;  a  seraph's  rather,  at  the 
lodge-gate,  welcoming  the  morn.  Yet  Hetty  crouched 
by  her  pillar,  afraid.  For  the  day  he  welcomed  was  not 
her  day,  the  worship  he  offered  was  not  her  worship  ;  for 
her  a  sword  lay  across  the  gate. 

Her  terror  passed,  and  she  straightened  herself. 
After  all,  she  did  not  repent.  Why  should  she  repent } 
She  was  loved ;  she  loved  in  return,  utterly  and  without 
guile,  with  a  love  which,  centred  upon  one,  yet  embraced 
all  living  creatures.  Nay,  it  embraced  Heaven,  if  Heaven 
would  accept  it.     And  why  not  ? 

*'  Wherefore  let  ns  beseech  him!'  said  the  voice,  ''to 
grant  us  true  repentance  and  his  Holy  Spirit,  that  those 
things  may  please  him  which  we  do  at  this  present ; 
and  that  the  rest  of  our  life  hereafter  may  be  pure  and 
holy.  .  .  ." 

"Pure  and  holy" — but  she  desired  no  less,  and  out 
of  her  love.  She  wanted  to  be  friends  with  all  at  home, 
to  go  to  them  fearlessly  and  make  them  understand  her 
as  she  understood  them,  and  to  be  good  all  the  days 


HETTY   WESLEY  147 

of  her  life.  "  True  repentance  "  ?  Why  repent  ?  .  .  . 
Ah,  yes,  of  course  :  but  God  was  no  haggler  over  hours. 
In  an  hour  or  two.  .  .  .  ''  That  those  things  may  please 
him  which  we  do  at  this  present  —  "  She  caught  at  her 
heart  now  as  the  terror  —  a  practical  terror  this  time  — 
returned  upon  it.  At  all  costs  she  must  find  John 
Romley  after  service,  though  indeed  there  was  little 
danger  of  missing  him,  for  he,  no  doubt,  would  be 
seeking  her. 

Her  mind  was  clear  now. 

She  lay  in  wait  for  him  as  he  stepped  out  under  the 
great  porch,  with  a  clean  surplice  on  his  arm.  He  paused 
there  with  a  smile  on  his  face,  glanced  up  at  the  blue 
sky,  clapped  on  his  hat,  and  descended  the  steps  gaily, 
whistling  a  phrase  from  the  Vem'fe  exiiltemiis ;  too  far 
preoccupied  to  recognize  Hetty,  until  she  stepped  for- 
ward and  almost  laid  a  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  Miss  Mehetabel !  " 

Plainly,  then,  he  was  not  seeking  her. 

"You  in  Lincoln.?  This  is  a  surprise  —  a  pleasant 
surprise,  indeed ! " 

"But  I  came  in  search  of  you.  I  have  been  wait- 
ing—  "     She  nodded  her  head  towards  the  porch. 

"Eh.?  You  heard?  'Twas  not  altogether  a  break- 
down, I  hope.  You  must  allow  for  some  nervousness 
—  did  you  detect  it .?  No  ?  Well,  I  don't  mind  owning  to 
you  I  was  nervous  as  a  cat :  but  there,  if  you  didn't  detect 
it  I  shall  flatter  myself  I  did  passably."  He  laughed, 
evidently  on  the  best  terms  with  himself.  His  breath 
smelt  of  beer.     "  The  Rector  is  with  you,  of  course  ?  " 


148  HETTY   WESLEY 

*'My  father?  But,  Mr.  Romley,  I  don't  think  you 
understand  —  " 

"  I  shall  do  myself  the  pleasure  of  calling  on  him  this 
morning.  Nothing  could  have  happened  better,  and  I'm 
in  luck's  way  to-day,  for  certain.  It  seems  the  Dean  and 
Chapter  require  a  certificate  from  him  —  a  testimonial  — 
just  a  line  or  two,  to  say  that  I'm  a  decent  respectable 
fellow.  We  have  not  been  friends  of  late  —  I  hope  Miss 
Patty  keeps  pretty  well,  by  the  way  —  but  he  won't  deny 
me  that  small  favour.  You  were  not  seeking  me  on  her 
account  ? "  he  added,  by  an  afterthought. 

"  Patty  ? "  She  uttered  her  sister's  name  to  gain 
time,  for  in  truth  she  was  bewildered,  alarmed. 

He  nodded.  "  We  are  not  allowed  to  correspond,  as 
you  know.  But  she  must  keep  up  her  heart :  your 
father  will  come  round  when  he  sees  me  precentor. 
'Tis  a  good  opening.  We  must  allow  for  the  Rector's 
crotchets  (you'll  excuse  me,  I  feel  sure) :  but  give  him 
time,  I  say  —  give  him  time,  and  he'll  come  round 
right  and  tight." 

"  My  father  is  not  with  me.  Oh,  Mr.  Romley,  you 
have  heard,  surely  ?  I  was  told —  But  there,  you  have 
the  license." 

"  The  Hcense  }     What  license  ?  "     He  stared  at  her. 

Her  heart  sank.  Here  was  some  horrible  mistake. 
She  bethought  herself  of  his  careless  habits,  which  in- 
deed were  notorious  enough  in  and  about  Wroote  and 
Epworth.  ''  It  must  be  among  your  letters  —  have  you 
neglected  them  lately  ?  Ah,  think  —  think,  my  friend  : 
for  to  me  this  means  all  the  world  ! " 


HETTY   WESLEY  149 

"  Upon  my  word  of  honour,  Miss  Hetty,  I  don't  under- 
stand one  word  you're  saying.  Come,  let  us  have  it 
clear.  What  brings  you  to  Lincoln  ?  The  Rector  is 
not  with  you.     Who  then  }  " 

"We  came  here  last  night  —  early  this  morning, 
rather  —  " 

"  *  We  '  .?  " 

"  I  have  left  home.  You  know  what  we  intended  ? 
But  my  father  locked  me  up.  I  had  tried  to  be 
open  with  him,  and  he  would   listen  to  nothing.     So 

—  as  everything  was  ready  —  and  you  here  with  the 
license  —  " 

John  Romley  stepped  back  a  pace.  It  is  doubtful  if 
he  heard  the  last  words.    His  eyes  were  round  in  his  head. 

"  You  are  here  —  with  —  /izm  !  "  He  gasped  it  in  an 
incredulous  whisper.  For  a  moment  in  her  earnest- 
ness she  met  his  stare.  Then  her  hands  went  up  to 
her  face.  "  You  }  You  }  "  he  repeated  slowly.  His 
eyes  shrank  from  her  face  and  wandered  helplessly 
over  the  smoke,  over  the  red  roofs  of  the  town  below 
them. 

"  But  we  came  to  get  married ! "  She  plucked  her  hands 
away  from  her  face  and  stepped  close  to  him,  forcing 
his  reluctant  eyes  to  meet  hers.  Her  cheeks  flamed  : 
he  groaned  at  the  sight  of  her  beauty.  ''  But  we  came 
to  get  married  !  John !  there  is  nothing  —  surely  nothing  ? 
that  with  your  help  cannot  be  set  right.     Ah,  I  forget 

—  by  marrying  us  you  will  offend  father,  and  you  find 
now  that  you  want  this  favour  of  him.  John,  it  cannot 
be  that  —  you  cannot   be  playing  so  cruel  a  trick  for 


I50 


HETTY  WESLEY 


that  —  and   after  your  promise  ?      Forgive  me  if  I  am 
selfish  :  but  think  what  I  am  fighting  for  !  " 

"  It  will  cost  me  the  precentor  ship,"  answered  he 
slowly,  "  but  I  hadn't  given  a  thought  to  that." 

"  It  shall  cost  you  nothing  of  the  kind.  After  all, 
father  is  juster  to  others  than  to  me.  I  will  write  —  we 
will  both  write  :  I  will  tell  him  what  you  risked  to  save 
his  daughter.  Or,  stay  :  any  clergyman  will  do,  will  he 
not  1  We  need  only  the  license.  You  shall  risk  noth- 
ing :  give  me  only  the  license  and  I  will  run  and  find 
one." 

"  Dear  Miss  Hetty,  I  made  no  promise.  I  have  no 
license.     None  has  reached  me,  nor  word  of  one." 

"  Then  he  must  have  it !  He  told  me  —  that  is,  I 
understood  —  "  She  broke  off  with  a  laugh  most  piti- 
ful in  John's  ears,  though  it  seemed  to  reassure  her. 
"  But  how  fooUsh  of  me !  Of  course  he  must  have  it. 
And  you  will  come  with  me,  at  once  ?  At  the  least  you 
are  willing  to  come  ?  " 

"Surely  I  will  come."  John's  face  was  gloomy. 
"  Where  are  the  lodgings  t  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  the  name  of  the  street,  but  I  can 
find  them.  John,  you  are  an  angel !  And  afterwards  I  will 
sit  and  tell  you  about  Patty  to  your  heart's  content.  We 
can  be  married  in  the  parlour,  I  suppose  t  Or  must  it  be 
in  church  }  I  had  rather  —  far  rather  —  it  were  in  church 
if  you  could  manage  that  for  us :  but  not  to  lose  time. 
Perhaps  we  can  find  a  church  later  in  the  day  and  get 
permission  to  go  through  the  service  again.  I  daresay, 
though,  he  has  it  all  arranged — he  said  I  might  leave  it 


HETTY   WESLEY  151 

to  him.  You  won't  tell  him,  John,  what  a  fright  I  have 
given  myself  ?  " 

So  her  tongue  ran  on  as  they  descended  the  hill 
together.  John  Romley  walked  beside  her  stupidly, 
wondering  if  she  were  in  truth  reassured  or  chattering 
thus  to  keep  up  her  hopes.  They  might,  after  all,  be 
justified :  but  his  forebodings  weighed  on  his  tongue. 
Also  the  shock  had  stunned  him  and  all  his  wits  seemed 
to  be  buzzing  loose  in  his  head. 

They  did  not  notice,  although  they  passed  it  close,  a 
certain  signboard  over  a  low-browed  shop  halfway  down 
the  street.  Afterwards  Hetty  remembered  passing  the 
shop,  and  that  its  one  window  was  caked  with  mud  and 
grimed  with  dust  on  top  of  the  mud.  She  did  not  see  a 
broad-shouldered  man  in  a  dirty  baize  apron  seated  at 
his  work-bench  behind  the  pane.  Nor  after  passing  the 
shop  did  she  turn  her  head  :  but  walked  on  unaware  of 
an  ill-shaven  face  thrust  out  of  its  doorway  and  staring 
after  her. 

William  Wright  sat  at  his  bench  that  morning,  fitting 
a  leather  washer  in  a  leaky  brass  tap.  In  the  darkest 
comer  at  the  back  of  the  shop  his  father  —  a  peevish 
old  man,  well  past  seventy  —  stooped  over  a  desk,  en- 
gaged as  usual  in  calculating  his  book-debts,  an  occupa- 
tion which  brought  him  no  comfort  but  merely  ingrained 
his  bad  opinion  of  mankind.  Having  drunk  his  trade 
into  a  decHne,  and  being  now  superannuated,  he  nagged 
over  his  ledgers  from  morning  to  night  and  snatched  a 
fearful  joy  in  goading  WiUiam  to  the  last  limit  of  for- 


152  HETTY   WESLEY 

bearance.  William,  who  had  made  himself  responsible 
for  the  old  man's  debts,  endured  him  on  the  whole  very 
creditably.  '*  Here's  a  bad  'un,"  ''  Here's  a  bad  'un," 
piped  the  voice  from  time  to  time. 

William  trimmed  away  at  his  washer. 

"  Hello  !  Who's  been  putting  this  in  the  ledger  ?  " 
The  old  man  held  up  a  thin  strip  of  leather.  "  Oh, 
Willum,  here's  a  very  bad  'un !  " 

"What  name.?"  asked  William  indifferently,  without 
turning  his  head. 

"Wesley,  Reverend  Samuel  —  Wroote  and  Epworth 
Rectory  —  twelve-seventeen-six.  Two  years  owing,  and 
not  a  stiver  on  account.     Oh,  a  poisonous  bad  'un !  " 

"That's  all  right." 

"  Not  a  stiver  on  account !  " 

"  All  right,  I  tell  you.  There  won't  be  any  paying  on 
account  with  that  bill :  it'll  be  all  or  nothing.  All,  per- 
haps ;  and,  if  so,  something  more  than  all"  —  he  laid 
down  his  clasp-knife  and  almost  involuntarily  put  a  hand 
up  to  his  cheek  —  "  but  nothing,  most  like.  I  put  that 
slip  of  leather  there  to  remind  me,  but  I  don't  need  it. 
'  Twelve-seventeen-six '  —  better  scratch  it  off." 

"  *  Scratch  it  off '  ?  Scratch  off  twelve-seventeen-six !  " 
Old  Wright  spun  round  on  his  stool.  But  William  sat 
gazing  out  of  window.  He  had  picked  up  his  knife 
again,  but  did  not  at  once  resume  work. 

The  next  thing  old  Wright  heard  was  the  clatter  of  a 
knife  on  the  bench.  William  sprang  up  as  it  dropped, 
crept  swiftly  to  the  shop-door,  and  stood  there  cran- 
ing his  head  into  the  street  and  fumbling  with  his  apron. 


HETTY   WESLEY  1 53 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  Cut  yourself  ?  It  don't  want 
a  doctor,  do  it  ?  " 

Wilham  did  not  answer :  suddenly  he  plucked  off  his 
apron,  flung  it  backwards  into  the  shop,  and  disappeared 
into  the  street.  The  old  man  tottered  forward,  picked  it 
off  the  floor  and  stood  examining  it,  his  mouth  opening 
and  shutting  like  a  fish's. 


II 

BROUGHT  him' !  Who  told  you  to  bring  him  ?  " 
Hetty's  lover  faced  her  across  the  round  table 
in  the  lodging-house  parlour.  The  table  was  spread  for 
two,  and  Hetty's  knife  and  plate  stood  ready  for  her 
with  a  covered  dish  before  it.  He  had  breakfasted,  and 
their  entrance  surprised  him  with  an  empty  pewter  in 
his  hand,  his  chair  thrust  back  sideways  from  the  table, 
his  legs  extended  towards  the  empty  fireplace,  and  his 
eyes  bent  on  his  handsome  calves  with  a  somewhat 
moody  frown. 

"  Who  told  you  to  bring  him  ?  " 

John  Romley  stood  in  the  doorway  behind  Hetty's 
shoulder.  She  turned  to  him  bravely  and  quietly,  albeit 
with  the  scare  in  her  face. 

"  I  ought  not  to  have  brought  you  in  like  this.  You 
will  not  mind  waiting  outside,  will  you  ?  —  a  minute  only 
—  while  I  explain  —  " 

Romley  bent  his  head  and  walked  out,  closing  the  door. 

"  Dear,"  —  Hetty  turned,  —  "  you  must  forgive  me, 
but  I  could  not  rest  until  I  had  brought  him." 

He  had  risen,  and  stood  now  with  his  face  averted, 
gazing  out  of  the  window  where  a  row  of  clouts  and 
linen  garments  on  a  clothes-line  blocked  the  view  of  an 
untidy  back  yard.     He  had  known  that  this  moment 

154 


HETTY   WESLEY  I  55 

must  come,  but  not  that  it  would  take  him  so  soon  and 
at  unawares.  He  let  his  anger  rise  while  he  considered 
what  to  answer ;  for  a  man  in  the  wrong  will  miss  no 
excuse  for  losing  his  temper. 

Hetty  waited  for  a  moment,  then  went  on  —  *'  And  I 
thought  you  had  given  him  the  license :  that  is  what 
made  me  so  anxious  to  find  — " 

A  noise  in  the  passage  cut  short  her  excuses :  a  woman's 
laugh.  Hetty  knew  of  two  women  only  in  the  house  — 
the  landlady  who  had  opened  the  door  last  night  and  a 
pert-looking  slatternly  servant  she  had  passed  at  the  foot 
of  the  stairs  on  her  way  to  the  cathedral.  She  could  not 
tell  to  which  of  these  the  voice  belonged  :  but  the  laugh 
and  the  jest  it  followed  —  though  she  had  not  caught  it  — 
were  plainly  at  John  Romley's  expense,  and  the  laugh 
was  horrible. 

It  rang  on  her  ears  like  a  street-door  bell.  It  seemed 
to  tear  down  the  mystery  of  the  house  and  scream  out  its 
secret.  The  young  man  at  the  window  turned  against  his 
will  and  met  Hetty's  eyes  :  they  were  strained  and  staring. 

She  put  out  her  hand.  "Where  is  the  license .''  "  she 
asked.     "  Give  it  to  me." 

The  change  in  her  voice  and  manner  confused  him. 
"  My  dear  child,  don't  be  silly,"  he  blundered. 

"  Give  me  the  license." 

"  Tut,  tut  —  let  us  understand  one  another  like  sensible 
folks.  You  must  not  treat  me  Hke  a  boy,  to  be  bounced 
in  this  fashion  by  John  Romley."  He  began  to  whip  up 
his  temper  again.  "  Nasty  tippHng  parson  !  I've  more 
than  a  mind  to  kick  him  into  the  street." 


156  HETTY   WESLEY 

Her  eyes  widened  on  his  with  growing  knowledge, 
growing  pain  :  but  faith  lived  in  them  yet. 

"  I  thought  you  had  given  him  the  license,  to  be  ready 
for  us.  Yes,  yes  —  you  did  say  it !  "  Her  hand  went  up 
to  her  bosom  for  his  last  letter,  which  she  had  worn  there 
until  last  night.  Then  she  remembered  :  she  had  left  it 
upstairs.    Having  him,  she  had  no  more  need  to  wear  it. 

He  read  the  gesture.  "  You  are  right,  dear,  and  I  for- 
got. I  did  say  so,  because  I  believed  by  the  time  the 
words  reached  you  —  or  thereabouts,  at  any  rate — " 

''  ThQu  ^ou  have  it.  Give  it  to  me,  please,"  she  com- 
manded. 

He  stepped  to  the  fireplace,  unable  to  meet  her  eye. 
"  You  hurried  me,"  he  muttered  :  "  there  was  not  time." 

For  a  moment  she  spread  out  both  hands  as  one 
groping  in  the  dark  :  then  the  veil  fell  from  her  eyes  and 
she  saw.  The  truth  spoke  to  her  senses  first  — in  the  sor- 
did disarray  of  breakfast,  in  the  fusty  smell  of  the  room 
with  its  soiled  curtains,  its  fly-blown  mirror,  its  outlook  on 
the  blank  court.  A  whiff  of  air  crept  in  at  the  open  win- 
dow—  fiat,  with  a  scullery  odour  which  sickened  her  soul. 
In  her  ears  rang  the  laugh  of  the  woman  in  the  passage. 

"  What  have  you  done  ?    What  have  you  done  to  me  ?  " 

She  crouched,  shivering,  like  some  beautiful  wild 
creature  entrapped.  He  faced  her  again.  Her  eyes  were 
on  his,  but  fastened  there  now  by  a  shrinking  terror. 

"  Hetty ! " 

She  put  up  a  hand  and  turned  her  face  to  the  wall,  as 
if  to  shut  out  him  and  the  light.  He  stepped  to  her,  caught 
her  by  the  wrist  and  forced  her  round  towards  him.    At 


HETTY   WESLEY 


157 


the  first  touch  he  felt  her  wince.  So  will  you  see  a  young 
she-panther  wince  and  cower  from  her  tamer's  whip. 

Yet,  although  she  shuddered,  she  could  not  drag  her 
hand  away.  He  was  her  tamer  now :  and  as  he  spoke 
soothingly  and  she  grew  quieter,  a  new  faith  awoke  in  her, 
yet  a  faith  as  old  as  woman  ;  the  false  imperishable  faith 
that  by  giving  all  she  binds  a  man  as  he  has  bound  her. 

With  a  cry  she  let  her  brow  sink  till  it  touched  his 
breast.  Then,  straightening  herself,  she  gripped  him  by 
both  shoulders  and  stared  close  into  his  eyes  —  clinging 
to  him  as  she  had  clung  that  evening  on  the  frozen  canal, 
but  with  a  face  how  different ! 

"  But  you  mean  no  harm  ?  You  told  me  a  falsehood  "  — 
here  he  blinked,  but  she  went  on,  her  eyes  devouring  his 
—  "  but  you  told  it  in  kindness  ?  Say  you  mean  no  harm 
to  me  —  you  will  get  this  license  soon.  How  soon  ?  Do 
not  be  angry  —  ah,  see  how  I  humble  myself  to  you! 
You  mean  honestly  :  yes,  yes,  but  say  it !     How  soon  ?  " 

"  Hetty,  I'll  be  honest  with  you.  One  cannot  get  a 
license  in  a  day." 

"And  I  will  be  patient  —  so  patient!  Only  we  must 
leave  this  horrible  house :  you  must  find  me  a  lodging 
where  I  can  be  alone." 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter  with  this  house  ?  "  He  tried 
a  laugh,  and  the  result  betrayed  him. 

Her  body  stiffened  again.  "  When  did  you  apply  for 
the  license  ?  "  she  demanded.     "  How  long  since  ? " 

He  tried  to  shuffle.  ''  But  answer  me  !  "  she  insisted, 
thrusting  him  away.  And  then,  after  a  pause  and  very 
slowly,  "You  have  not  applied  at  all,"  she  said.   "  You  are 


158  HETTY   WESLEY 

lying  again  .  .  .  God  forgive  you."  She  drew  herself 
up  and  for  an  instant  he  thought  she  was  going  to  strike 
him  ;  but  she  only  shivered.     "  I  must  go  home." 

"  Home !  "  he  echoed. 

"  And  whither  but  home  ? "  —  with  a  loathing  look 
around  her. 

"  You  will  not  dare." 

In  all  this  pitiful  scene  was  nothing  so  pitiful  as  the 
pride  in  which  she  drew  herself  up  and  towered  over  the 
man  who  had  abased  her.  Yet  her  voice  was  quiet. 
"  That  you  cannot  understand  is  worst  of  all.  I  feared 
sin  too  little :  but  I  can  face  the  consequences.  I  fear 
them  less  than  —  than  —  " 

A  look  around  her  completed  the  sentence  eloquently 
enough.  As  she  stood  with  her  hand  on  the  door-latch 
that  look  travelled  around  the  sordid  room  and  rested 
finally  on  him  as  a  piece  of  it.  Then  the  latch  clicked, 
and  she  was  gone. 

She  stood  in  the  passage  by  the  foot  of  the  staircase. 
Halfway  up  the  servant  girl  was  stooping  over  a  stair- 
rod,  pretending  to  clean  it.  Hetty's  wits  were  clear. 
She  reflected  a  moment,  and  mounted  steadily  to  her 
room,  crammed  her  poor  trifles  into  her  satchel,  and 
came  down  again  with  a  face  of  ice. 

The  girl  drew  aside,  watching  her  intently.  But  — 
on  a  sudden  impulse  —  "  Miss "  she  said. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  !  "     Hetty  paused. 

"I  wouldn't  be  in  a  hurry,  miss.  You  can  master 
him,  if  you  try  —  you  and  the  parson  :  and  the  worst  of 
*em's  better  than  none.     And  you  that  pretty,  too !  " 


HETTY   WESLEY  159 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  answered  Hetty  coldly,  and 
passed  on. 

John  Romley  was  patrolling  the  pavement  outside. 
She  forced  up  a  smile  to  meet  him.  "  There  has  been 
some  difficulty  with  the  license,"  said  she,  and  marvelled 
at  her  own  calmness.  "  I  am  sorry,  John,  to  have 
brought  you  here  for  nothing.  He  hid  it  from  me  —  in 
kindness  :  but  meanwhile  I  am  going  back."  With  this 
brave  falsehood  she  turned  to  leave  him,  knowing  that 
he  believed  it  as  little  as  she. 

He  too  marvelled.     "  Is  it  necessary  to  go  back  ? " 

"  It  is  necessary." 

"Then  let  me  find  you  some  conveyance."  But  he 
saw  that  she  wished  only  to  be  rid  of  him,  and  so  shook 
hands  and  watched  her  down  the  street. 

"  The  infernal  hound  !  "  he  said  to  himself,  and  as  she 
passed  out  of  sight  turned  to  the  lodging-house  door  and 
entered  without  knocking. 

He  emerged,  twenty  minutes  later,  with  his  white 
bands  twisted,  his  hat  awry,  and  a  smear  of  blood  on  the 
surpHce  he  carried  —  altogether  a  very  unclerical-looking 
figure.  On  the  way  back  to  his  inn  he  kept  looking  at 
his  cut  knuckles,  and,  arriving,  called  for  a  noggin  of 
brandy.  By  midday  he  was  drunk,  and  at  one  o'clock 
he  was  due  to  appear  at  the  Chapter  House.  The  hour 
struck :  but  John  Romley  sat  on  in  the  coffee-room, 
staring  stupidly  at  his  knuckles. 

And  all  this  while  in  the  lodging-house  parlour  sat  or 
paced  the  man  who  has  no  name  in  this  book.  He  also 
was    drinking :    but   the   brandy-and-water,    though   he 


l6o  HETTY   WESLEY 

gulped  it  fiercely,  neither  unsteadied  his  legs  nor  con- 
fused his  brain.  Only  it  deadened  by  degrees  the  ruddy 
colour  in  his  face  to  a  gray  shining  pallor,  showing  up 
one  angry  spot  on  the  cheek-bone.  Though  he  frowned 
as  he  paced  and  muttered  now  and  again  to  himself,  he 
was  not  thinking  of  John  Romley. 

Some  men  are  born  to  be  the  curse  of  women  and, 
through  women,  of  the  world.  Despicable  in  themselves 
they  inherit  a  dreadful  secret  before  which,  as  in  a  for- 
tress betrayed  to  a  false  password,  the  proudest  virtue 
hauls  down  its  flag  and,  kneehng,  proffers  its  keys. 
Doubtless  they  move  under  fate  to  an  end  appointed, 
though  to  us  they  appear  but  as  sightseers,  obscure  and 
irresponsible,  who  passing  through  a  temple  defile  its 
holies  and  go  their  casual  ways.  We  wonder  that  this 
should  be.  But  so  it  is,  and  such  was  this  man.  Let 
his  name  perish. 


Ill 

LATE  that  evening  and  a  little  after  moonrise, 
Johnny  Whitelamb,  going  out  to  the  woodstack 
for  a  faggot,  stood  still  for  a  moment  at  sight  of  a  figure 
half-blotted  in  the  shadow. 

"  Miss  Hetty  —  oh,  Miss  Hetty  !  "  he  called  softly. 

Hetty  did  not  run ;  but  as  he  stepped  to  her,  let  him 
take  her  hands  and  Hfted  her  face  to  the  moonlight. 

"What  are  they  doing }  "  she  whispered. 

Johnny  was  never  eloquent.  "  They  are  sitting  by  the 
fire,  just  as  usual,"  he  answered  her,  but  his  voice  shook 
over  the  words. 

"Just  as  usual.? "she  echoed  dully.  "Mother  and 
the  girls,  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Yes  :  the  Rector  is  in  his  study.  I  have  not  seen  him 
to-day:  only  the  mistress  has  seen  him."  He  paused: 
Hetty  shivered.  She  was  weak  and  woefully  tired  :  for, 
excepting  a  lift  at  Marton  and  a  second  in  a  wagon 
from  Gainsborough  to  Haxey,  she  had  walked  from 
Lincoln  and  had  been  walking  all  day. 

"  I  cannot  tell  what  mistress  thinks,"  Johnny  went  on  : 
"  the  others  talk  to  each  other  —  a  word  now  and  then  — 
but  she  sits  looking  at  the  fire  and  says  nothing.  I  think 
she  means  to  sit  up  late  to-night.  Else  why  did  she  send 
me  out  for  another  faggot  ? "  he  asked,  in  his  simple, 

M  i6i 


1 62  HETTY   WESLEY 

puzzled  way.     "  But  oh,  Miss  Hetty,  she  will  be  glad 
you've  come  back,  and  now  we  can  be  all  happy  again  !  " 

She  waved  a  hand  feebly.     "  Fetch  Molly  to  me." 

By  the  pallor  of  her  brow  in  the  moonlight  he  made 
sure  she  was  near  to  fainting :  and,  indeed,  she  was  not 
far  from  it.  He  ran  and  burst  in  at  the  kitchen-door 
impetuously ;  but  meeting  the  eyes  of  the  family,  sur- 
prised —  as  well  they  might  be  —  by  the  violence  of  his 
entry  and  his  scared  face,  he  became  suddenly  and 
absurdly  diplomatic,  crossed  to  Molly  and  whispered, 
as  Mrs.  Wesley  turned  her  eyes  from  the  fire. 

"  But  where  is  the  faggot .?  "  she  demanded. 

"I  —  I  forgot  it,"  stammered  Johnny  and  was  for 
returning  to  fetch  it.     Molly  rose. 

"  Hetty  is  outside,"  she  announced. 

For  a  second  or  two  there  was  silence.  Mrs.  Wesley 
turned  to  her  crippled  daughter.  ''You  had  best  bring 
her  in.     The  rest  of  you,  go  to  bed." 

They  obeyed  at  once  and  in  silence.  Johnny,  too, 
stole  off  to  his  mattress  in  the  glass-doored  cupboard 
under  the  stairs. 

When  Molly  returned,  leading  in  her  sister,  Mrs. 
Wesley  was  seated  by  the  fire  alone.  Mother  and 
daughter  looked  into  each  other's  eyes.  In  silence 
Hetty  stepped  forward  and  dropped  into  the  chair  a 
minute  ago  vacated  by  Kezzy.  But  for  the  ticking  of 
the  tall  clock  there  was  no  sound  in  the  kitchen. 

Mrs.  Wesley  read  Hetty's  eyes;  read  the  truth  in 
them,  and  something  else  which  tied  her  tongue.  She 
made  no  offer  to  rise  and  kiss  her. 


HETTY  WESLEY  163 

"You  are  hungry?"  she  asked  after  a  while,  and 
Molly  pushed  forward  a  plate  of  biscuits.  Hetty  ate 
ravenously  for  a  minute  (for  twenty-four  hours  not  a 
morsel  of  food  had  passed  her  lips  and  she  had  walked 
close  on  thirty  miles)  and  then  pushed  away  the  plate 
in  disgust.  Her  eyes  still  sought  her  mother's ;  they 
neither  pleaded  nor  reproached. 

Yet  Mrs.  Wesley  spoke,  when  next  she  spoke,  as  if 
choosing  to  answer  a  plea.  "  Your  father  does  not 
know  of  your  return.  You  may  sleep  with  Molly  to- 
night." She  bent  over  the  hearth  and  raked  its  embers 
together.  Molly  laid  a  hand  lightly  on  Hetty's  shoulder, 
then  slipped  it  under  the  crook  of  her  arm,  and  lifted 
and  led  her  from  the  kitchen. 

Hetty  went  unresisting.  When  they  reached  the  bed- 
room she  halted  and  stared  around  as  one  who  had  lost 
her  bearings.  She  winced  once  and  shook  as  Molly's 
gentle  fingers  began  to  unfasten  her  bodice,  but  after- 
wards stood  quite  passive  and  suffered  herself  to  be 
undressed  as  a  little  child.  Molly  unlaced  her  shoes. 
Molly  brought  cool  water  in  a  basin,  bathed  her  face 
and  hands,  braided  her  hair  —  the  masses  of  red-brown 
hair  she  had  been  used  to  admire  and  caress,  pass- 
ing a  hand  over  them  as  tenderly  as  of  old ;  then 
knelt  and  washed  the  tired  feet,  and  wiped  them,  feel- 
ing the  arch  of  the  instep  with  her  bare  hands  and 
chafing  them  to  make  sure  they  were  dry  —  so  cold  they 
were. 

'*  Won't  you  say  your  prayers,  dear } " 

Hetty  shook  her  head. 


l64  HETTY   WESLEY 

"  Then  at  least  you  shall  kneel  by  me,  and  I  will  pray 
for  both." 

Molly's  arm  was  about  her.  She  obeyed  and  with  her 
waist  so  encircled  knelt  by  the  bed.  And  twice  Molly, 
not  interrupting  her  prayer,  pressed  the  waist  close  to 
her  side,  and  once  lifted  her  lips  and  kissed  the  side  of 
the  brow. 

They  arose  at  length,  the  one  confirmed  now  and  made 
almost  fearless  by  saintliness  and  love.  But  the  other, 
creeping  first  into  the  narrow  bed,  shrank  away  towards 
the  wall  and  lay  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  it  and  staring. 

"No,  darling,"  whispered  Molly;  ''when  you  were 
strong  and  I  was  weak  you  used  to  comfort  me.  I 
am  the  strong  one  now,  and  you  shall  not  escape 
me  so !  " 

And  so  it  was.  Her  feeble  arms  had  suddenly  become 
strong.  They  slid,  the  one  beneath  Hetty's  shoulder, 
the  other  across  and  below  her  bosom,  and  straining, 
not  to  be  denied,  they  forced  her  round.  Wide-eyed 
still,  Hetty  gazed  up  into  eyes  dark  in  the  moonlight, 
but  conquering  her,  piercing  through  all  secrets.  Her 
own  brimmed  suddenly  with  tears  and  she  lay  quiet,  her 
soul  naked  beneath  Molly's  soul. 

"  Ay,  let  them  come  —  let  them  come  while  I  hold 
you !  " 

While  Hetty  lay,  neither  winking  nor  moving,  the 
big  drops  overbrimmed  at  the  corners  of  each  eye 
and  trickled  on  the  pillow.  As  one  fell,  another 
gathered.  Silent,  unchecked,  they  flowed,  and  Molly 
bent  and  watched  them  flowing. 


HETTY   WESLEY  165 

"A  little  while  —  a  little  while  !  "  moaned  Hetty. 

"I  will  hold  you  so  for  ever." 

"  No  —  yet  a  little  while,  though  you  know  not  what 
you  are  holding." 

''  Were  it  a  thousand  times  worse  than  I  think,  I  am 
holding  my  sister." 

"  To-morrow  —  " 

**  We  will  bear  it  together."  Molly  smiled,  but  very 
faintly.  "You  forget  that  I  shall  never  marry  —  that  I 
shall  always  need  you  to  care  for.  All  my  life  till  now 
you  have  protected  me  :  now  I  shall  pay  back  what  I 
owe." 

"  Ah,  you  think  I  fear  father  ?  Molly,  I  do  not  fear 
father  at  all.  I  fear  myself — what  I  am."  And  still 
staring  up  Hetty  whispered  a  horrible  word. 

"  Oh  hush,  hush !  "  Molly  laid  a  swift  hand  over 
her  lips,  and  for  a  while  there  was  silence  in  the 
room. 

"  So  make  the  most  of  me  now,"  Hetty  murmured, 
"  while  you  have  me  to  hold,  dear :  for  what  I  am  is  not 
mine  to  give." 

"Hetty!"  Molly  drew  back.  "You  will  not  go  — 
to  /izm  —  again  ?  " 

"  If  he  will  marry  me.  I  do  not  think  he  will,  dear : 
I  do  not  think  he  has  the  courage.  But  if  he  calls  me, 
I  will  go  humbly,  thankfully." 

"  And  if  not  —  " 

Hetty  turned  her  face  aside :  but  after  a  moment  she 
looked  up,  staring,  as  before.  There  were  no  tears  in 
her  eyes  now. 


1 66  HETTY   WESLEY 

"  I  do  not  know."  She  was  silent  awhile,  then  went 
on  slowly.  *'  But  if  any  honest  man  will  have  me,  I  vow 
before  God  to  marry  him.  Yes,  and  I  would  take  his 
hand  and  bless  it  for  so  much  honour,  were  he  the  lowest 
hind  in  the  fields." 

Molly  choked  down  a  cry  and  held  her  breath.  Her 
arms  slipped  from  around  the  dear  body  she  could  have 
saved  from  fire,  from  drowning,  from  anything  but  this. 
This  pair  had  loved  and  honoured  each  other  from  baby- 
hood :  the  heart  of  each  had  been  a  shrine  for  the 
other,  daily  decked  with  pretty  thoughts  as  a  shrine  with 
flowers  in  season.  All  that  was  best  they  had  brought 
each  other  :  how  much  at  need  they  were  ready  to  give 
God  alone  knew.  And  now,  by  the  law  which  in  Eden 
divided  woman  from  man,  the  basest  stranger  among 
the  millions  of  men  held  the  power  denied  to  Molly,  the 
only  salvation  for  Hetty's  need.  "What  I  am  is  not 
mine  to  give  "  —  for  a  minute  Molly  bowed  over  her 
sister,  helpless. 

"But  no,"  she  cried  suddenly,  "that  is  wicked!  It 
would  be  a  thousand  times  worse  than  the  other,  how- 
ever bad.  You  shall  take  no  such  oath  !  You  did  not 
know  what  it  meant.     Hetty,  Hetty,  take  it  back !  " 

She  flung  herself  forward  sobbing. 

"  I  have  said  it,"  Hetty  answered  quietly.  The  two  lay 
shuddering,  breast  to  breast. 

Downstairs  a  sad-eyed  woman  sat  over  the  dead  fire. 
She  heard  a  chair  pushed  back  in  the  next  room,  and 
trembled.     By-and-by  she  heard  her  husband  trying  the 


HETTY  WESLEY  l6/ 

bolts  of  the  doors  and  window-shutters.  He  looked  into 
the  kitchen  and,  finding  her  there  seated  with  the  lamp 
beside  her,  withdrew  without  a  word.  She  had  not  raised 
her  head.     His  footsteps  went  up  the  stairs  slowly. 

For  another  hour,  almost,  she  sat  on,  staring  at  the 
gray  ashes :  then  took  the  lamp  and  went  shivering  to 
her  room. 


IV 

THE  worst  (or  perhaps  the  best)  of  a  temper  so 
choleric  as  Mr.  Wesley's  is  that  by  constant  daily 
expenditure  on  trifles  it  fatigues  itself,  and  is  apt  to 
betray  its  possessor  by  an  unexpected  lassitude  when  a 
really  serious  occasion  calls.  A  temper  thoroughly  cruel 
(which  his  was  not)  steadily  increases  its  appetite :  but  a 
temper  less  than  cruel,  or  cruel  only  by  accident,  will  run 
itself  to  a  standstill  and  either  cry  for  a  strong  whip  or 
yield  to  the  temptation  to  defer  the  crisis. 

On  this  Mrs.  Wesley  was  building  when  she  broke  to 
her  husband  the  news  of  Hetty's  return.  He  lifted  him- 
self in  his  chair,  clutching  its  arms.  His  face  was  gray 
with  spent  passion. 

"  Where  is  she  .?  " 

"  She  has  gone  for  a  walk,  alone,"  she  answered.  She 
had,  in  truth,  packed  Hetty  off  and  watched  her  across 
the  yard  before  venturing  to  her  husband's  door. 

"  So  best."  He  dropped  back  in  his  chair  with  a  sigh 
that  was  more  than  half  composed  of  relief.  "  So  best, 
perhaps.     I  will  speak  to  her  later." 

He  looked  at  his  wife  with  hopeless  inquiry.  She 
bowed  her  head  for  sign  that  it  was  indeed  hopeless. 

Now  Molly  had  sought  her  mother  early  and  spoken 
up.     But  Molly  (who  intended  nothing  so  little)  had  not 

1 68 


HETTY  WESLEY  1 69 

only  made  herself  felt,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  as  a 
person  to  be  reckoned  with,  but  had  also  done  the  most 
fatally  foolish  thing  in  her  life  by  winding  up  with  :  **  And 
we  —  you  and  father  and  all  of  us,  but  father  especially 
—  have  driven  her  to  it !  God  knows  to  what  you  will 
drive  her  yet :  for  she  has  taken  an  oath  under  heaven 
to  marry  the  first  man  who  offers,  and  she  is  capable  of 
it,  if  you  will  not  be  sensible." 

—  Which  was  just  the  last  thing  Hetty  would  have  for- 
bidden her  to  tell,  yet  just  the  last  thing  Hetty  would 
have  told,  had  she  been  pleading  for  Molly.  For  Hetty 
had  long  since  gauged  her  mother  and  knew  that,  while 
her  instinct  for  her  sons'  interests  was  well-nigh  impec- 
cable, on  any  question  that  concerned  her  daughters 
she  would  blunder  nine  times  out  of  ten. 

So  now  Mrs.  Wesley,  meaning  no  harm  and  foresee- 
ing none,  answered  her  husband  gravely,  ''  She  has  told 
me  nothing.  But  she  swears  she  will  marry  the  first 
man  who  offers." 

The  Rector  shut  his  mouth  firmly.  "  That  decides  it," 
he  answered.     "  Has  she  gone  in  search  of  the  fool  ? " 

But  this  was  merely  a  cry  of  bitterness.  As  Mrs. 
Wesley  stole  from  the  room,  he  opened  a  drawer  in  his 
table,  pulled  out  some  sheets  of  manuscript,  and  gazed  at 
them  for  a  while  without  fixing  his  thoughts.  He  seldom 
considered  his  daughters.  Women  had  their  place  in 
the  world  :  that  place  was  to  obey  and  bear  children  : 
to  carry  on  the  line  for  men.  It  was  a  father's  duty  to 
take  care  that  their  husbands  should  be  good  men, 
worthy  of  the  admixture  of  good  blood.     The  family 


I/O  HETTY   WESLEY 

which  yielded  its  daughters  to  this  office  yielded  them 
as  its  surplus.  They  did  not  carry  on  its  name,  which 
depended  on  its  sons.  .  .  .  He  had  three  sons:  but  of 
all  his  daughters  Hetty  had  come  nearest  to  claim  a 
son's  esteem.  Something  masculine  in  her  mind  had  en- 
couraged him  to  teach  her  Latin  and  Greek.  It  had  been 
an  experiment,  half  seriously  undertaken  ;  it  had  come  to 
be  seriously  pursued.  Not  even  John  had  brought  so 
flexible  a  sense  of  language.  In  accuracy  she  could  not 
compare  with  John,  nor  in  that  masculine  apprehension 
which  seizes  on  logic  even  in  the  rudiments  of  grammar. 
Mr.  Wesley  —  a  poet  himself,  though  by  no  means  a  great 
one —  had  sometimes  found  John  too  pragmatical  in  de- 
manding reasons  for  this  and  that.  "  Child,"  he  had  once 
protested,  "  you  think  to  carry  everything  by  dint  of 
argument;  but  you  will  find  how  little  is  ever  done  in  the 
world  by  close  reasoning  "  :  and,  turning  to  his  wife  in  a 
pet,  **  I  profess,  sweetheart,  I  think  our  Jack  would  not 
attend  to  the  most  pressing  necessities  of  nature  unless 
he  could  give  a  reason  for  it."  To  Hetty,  on  the  other 
hand,  beauty  —  beauty  in  language,  in  music,  in  all  forms 
of  art,  no  less  than  the  beauty  of  a  spring  day  —  was 
an  ultimate  thing  and  lay  beyond  questions :  and  Mr. 
Wesley,  though  as  a  divine  he  checked  her  somewhat 
pagan  impulses  and  recalled  them  to  give  account  of 
their  ground  of  choice,  as  a  scholar  could  not  help  ad- 
miring them.  For  they  seldom  led  her  to  choose  wrongly. 
In  Hetty  dwelt  something  of  the  Attic  instinct  which,  in 
days  of  literary  artifice  and  literary  fashions  from  which 
she  could  not  wholly  escape,  kept  her  taste  fresh  and 


HETTY   WESLEY 


171 


guided  her  at  once  to  browse  on  what  was  natural  and 
health-giving  and  to  reject  with  delicate  disgust  what 
was  rank  and  overblown.  Himself  a  sardonic  humorist, 
he  could  enjoy  the  bubbling  mirth  with  which  she  dis- 
covered comedy  in  the  objects  of  their  common  derision. 
Himself  a  hoplite  in  study,  laborious,  without  sense  of 
proportion,  he  could  look  on  and  smile  while  she,  a 
woman,  walked  more  nimbly,  picking  and  choosing  as 
she  went. 

The  manuscript  he  held  was  a  poem  of  hers,  scored 
with  additions  and  alterations  of  his  own,  by  which 
(though  mistakenly)  he  believed  he  had  improved  it :  a 
song  of  praise  put  in  the  mouth  of  a  disciple  of  Plato  : 
its  name,  ''  Eupolis,  his  Hymn  to  the  Creator."  As  he 
turned  the  pages,  his  eyes  paused  and  fastened  them- 
selves on  a  passage  here  and  there : 

"  Sole  from  sole  Thou  mak'st  the  sun 
On  his  burning  axles  run  : 
The  stars  like  dust  around  him  fly, 
And  strew  the  area  of  the  sky  : 
He  drives  so  swift  his  race  above, 
Mortals  can't  perceive  him  move  : 
So  smooth  his  course,  oblique  or  straight, 
Olympus  shakes  not  with  his  weight. 
As  the  Queen  of  solemn  Night 
Fills  at  his  vase  her  orb  of  light  — 
Imparted  lustre  —  thus  we  see 
The  solar  virtue  shines  by  Thee. 
EIPE2IQNH  !  we'll  no  more 
For  its  fancied  aid  implore, 
Since  bright  oi7  and  tuool  and  lume 
And  life-sustaining  dread  are  Thine  ; 
JVme  that  sprightly  mirth  supplies, 
Noble  wine  for  sacrifice.  .  .  ." 


172 


HETTY   WESLEY 


The  verses,  though  he  repeated  them,  had  no  meaning 
for  him.  He  remembered  her  sitting  at  the  table  by  the 
window  (now  surrendered  to  Johnny  Whitelamb)  and 
transcribing  them  into  a  fair  copy,  sitting  with  head  bent 
and  the  sunHght  playing  on  her  red-brown  hair :  he  re- 
membered her  standing  by  his  chair  with  a  flushed  face, 
waiting  for  his  verdict.  But  though  his  memory  retained 
these  visions,  they  carried  no  sentiment.  H  e  only  thought 
of  the  young,  almost  boyish,  promise  in  the  lines  : 

"  Omen,  monster,  prodigy  ! 
Or  nothing  is,  or  Jove,  from  thee. 
Whether  various  Nature's  play, 
Or  she,  renversed,  thy  will  obey, 
And  to  rebel  man  declare 
Famine,  plague  or  wasteful  war  .  .  . 
No  evil  can  from  Thee  proceed ; 
'Tis  only  suffered,  not  decreed.  .  .  ." 

He  gazed  from  the  careful  handwriting  to  the  horizon 
beyond  his  window.  Why  had  he  fished  out  the  poem 
from  its  drawer }  She,  the  writer,  —  his  child,  —  was  a 
wanton. 


V 

HETTY  had  found  a  patch  of  ragged  turf  and  mallow 
where  the  woodstack  hid  her  from  the  parsonage 
windows ;  and  sat  there  in  the  morning  sun  —  uncon- 
sciously, as  usual,  courting  its  full  rays.  Between  her 
and  the  stack  the  ground  was  bare,  strewn  with  straw 
and  broken  twigs.  She  supposed  that  her  father  would 
send  for  her  soon  :  but  she  was  preparing  no  defence,  no 
excuses.  She  hoped,  indeed,  that  the  interview  would  be 
short,  but  simply  because  the  account  she  must  render  to 
him  seemed  trivial  beside  that  which  she  must  render  to 
herself.  Her  eyes  watched  the  hens  as  they  scratched 
pits  in  the  warm  dust,  snuggled  down  and  adjusted  and 
readjusted  their  wing-feathers.  But  her  brain  was  busied 
over  and  over  with  the  same  thought  —  "I  am  now  a  bad 
woman.     Is  there  yet  any  way  for  me  to  be  good  ?  " 

Yet  her  wits  were  alert  enough.  She  heard  her 
father's  footstep  on  the  path  twenty  yards  away,  guessed 
the  moment  which  would  bring  him  into  sight  of  her. 
Though  she  did  not  look  up,  she  knew  that  he  had  come 
to  a  halt.  She  waited.  He  turned  and  walked  slowly 
away.  She  knew  why  he  had  faltered.  Her  mind  ran 
back  to  the  problem.  "  I  am  a  bad  woman.  Is  there 
any  way  for  me  to  be  good } " 

Half  an  hour  passed.     Emilia  came  round  the  rick, 

173 


174 


HETTY  WESLEY 


talking  to  herself,  holding  a  wooden  bowl  from  which 
she  had  been  feeding  the  chickens.  She  came  upon 
Hetty  unawares  and  stood  still,  with  a  face  at  first  con- 
fused, but  gradually  hardening. 

*'Sit  down,  Emmy."  Hetty  pointed  to  a  faggot  lying 
a  few  paces  off. 

Emilia  hesitated. 

**  You  may  sit  down :  near  enough  to  listen  — 

" '  Here  I  and  sorrows  sit  ; 
Here  is  my  throne,  let  Emmy  bow  to  it.' 

You  were  reciting  as  you  came  along."  She  raised  her 
eyes  with  a  grave  smile.    "  Shall  I  tell  you  your  secret }  " 

"  What  secret  ? "  asked  Emilia,  reddening  in  spite  of 
herself. 

"  Oh,  I  have  known  it  a  long  while.  But  if  you  want 
me  to  whisper  it,  you  must  come  closer.  Nay,  my  dear, 
I  know  very  little  of  the  stage  —  perhaps  as  little  as 
you :  but,  from  what  I  have  read,  it  will  bring  you  close 
to  creatures  worse  than  I." 

Emilia  was  scared  now.  *'  Who  told  you }  Have  you 
heard  from  Jacky  .'*  —  no,  he  couldn't  because  —  " 

"  —  Because  you  never  told  him,  although  you  may 
have  hinted  at  it.  And  if  you  told  him,  he  would  laugh 
and  call  it  the  ambition  of  a  girl  who  knows  nothing  of 
the  world." 

"I  will  not  starve  here.  And  now  that  this  —  this 
disgrace  —  " 

**  Father  would  think  it  no  less  disgrace  to  see  you  an 
actress.     Listen :  a  little  while  ago  he  came  this  way. 


HETTY   WESLEY  175 

meaning  to  curse  me,  but  he  turned  back  and  did  not. 
And  now  you  come,  and  are  confused,  and  I  read  you 
just  as  plainly.  While  my  wits  are  so  clear  I  want  to  say 
one  or  two  things  to  you.  Yesterday  —  only  yesterday  — 
I  left  home  for  ever,  and  here  I  am  back  again.  I  have 
been  wicked,  you  say,  and  there  is  nothing  sinful  in  be- 
coming an  actress.  Perhaps  not :  yet  I  am  sure  father 
would  think  it  sinful — even  more  selfishly  sinful  than  my 
fault,  because  it  would  hurt  the  careers  of  Jacky  and 
Charles;  and  that,  as  you  know,  he  would  never  forgive." 

"Who  are  you,  to  be  lecturing  me  .''  " 

"  I  am  your  sister,  who  has  done  wrong :  I  have  tasted 
bitter  fruit  and  must  go  eating  it  all  my  life.  But  it  is 
fruit  of  knowledge  —  ah,  Ksten,  Emmy  !  If  you  do  this 
and  become  famous,  the  greater  your  fame,  the  greater 
the  injury ;  or  so  father  would  hold  it,  and  perhaps  our 
brothers  too.  Hetty  can  be  hidden  and  forgotten  in  a 
far  country  parish.  But  can  Jacky  become  a  bishop, 
having  for  a  sister  a  famous  actress } " 

"  You  are  sudden  in  this  thought  for  your  brothers." 

"  It  is  not  of  them  I  am  thinking.  I  say  that  if  you 
succeed  you  will  lose  father's  forgiveness  and  always 
carry  with  you  this  sorrowful  knowledge.  Yet  I  would 
bid  you  go  and  do  it :  for  to  be  great  is  worth  much  cost 
of  sorrow,  and  sorrow  might  even  increase  your  great- 
ness. But  have  you  that  strength  }  And  if  you  should 
not  succeed  ? — We  know  nothing  of  the  world  :  all  our 
thoughts  of  it  come  out  of  books  and  dreaming. 
You  imagine  yourself  treading  the  boards  and  hold- 
ing all  hearts  captive  with  your  voice.     So  I  used  to 


176  HETTY   WESLEY 

imagine  myself  slaying  dragons.     So,  only  yesterday, 
I  believed  —  " 

She  sat  erect  with  a  shiver.  "  To  wake  and  find  all 
your  dreams  changed  to  squalor,  and  for  you  no  turning 
back!  Have  you  the  strength,  Emmy  —  to  go  forward 
and  change  that  squalor  back  again  by  sheer  force  into 
beautiful  dreams  ?  Have  you  the  strength  ? "  She  gazed 
at  Emilia  and  added  musingly,  "  No,  you  have  not  the 
strength.  You  will  stay  on  here  in  the  cage,  an  obedient 
woman,  your  talent  repressed  to  feed  the  future  of  those 
grand  brothers  of  ours  who  take  all  we  give,  yet  cannot 
help  us  one  whit.  They  take  it  innocently ;  they  do  not 
know  ;  and  they  are  dear  good  fellows.  But  they  cannot 
help.  I  only  have  done  what  may  injure  them  —  though 
I  do  not  think  it  will :  and  when  father  came  along  the 
path  just  now,  he  was  thinking  of  them  rather  than  of 
me  —  of  me  only  as  I  might  injure  them." 

She  was  right  indeed.  Mr.  Wesley  had  left  the  house 
thinking  of  her :  but  a  few  steps  had  called  up  the  faces 
of  his  sons,  and  by  habit,  since  he  thought  of  them  al- 
ways on  his  walks.  His  studies  put  aside,  to  think  of 
them  was  his  recreation.  Coming  upon  Hetty,  he  had 
felt  himself  taken  at  unawares,  and  retreated. 

*'  —  And  when  he  turned  away,"  Hetty  went  on,  "I 
understood.  And  I  felt  sorry  for  him,  because  all  of  a 
sudden  it  came  to  me  that  he  may  be  wiser  than  any  of 
us,  and  one  day  it  will  be  made  plain  to  us,  what  we  have 
helped  to  do  —  or  to  spoil." 

**  Here  is  someone  you  had  better  be  sorry  for,"  said 
Emilia,  glancing  along  the  path  at  the  sound  of  footsteps 


HETTY   WESLEY  1 77 

i' 
and  catching  sight  of  Nancy.     "  She  has  made  up  her 

mind  that  John  Lambert  will  have  no  more  to  do  with 

us  now  ;  and  the  wedding  not  a  month  away ! " 

Sure  enough,  Nancy's  eyes  were  red,  and  she  gazed 
at  Hetty  less  with  reprobation  than  with  lugubrious 
reproach. 

"  Then  she  knows  less  of  John  Lambert  than  I  do,"  said 
Hetty ;  "  and  still  less  how  deep  he  is  in  love  with  her. 
Nancy  dear,"  she  asked,  "  was  he  to  have  walked  over  this 
morning  ? " 

"  He  was  coming  from  Haxey  way,"  wailed  Nancy. 
"  He  was  to  have  been  here  at  ten  o'clock  and  it  is  past 
that  now.  Of  course  he  has  heard,  and  does  not  mean  to 
come." 

Hetty  choked  down  an  exceeding  bitter  sob. 

"  Anne,  —  sister  Anne,"  she  answered  in  her  old  light 
manner,  though  she  desired  to  be  alone  and  to  weep  :  "  go, 
look  along  the  road  and  say  if  you  see  anyone  coming  ?  " 

Nancy  turned  away,  too  generous  to  upbraid  her  sis- 
ter, but  hotly  ashamed  of  her  and  her  lack  of  contrition, 
and  indignantly  sorry  for  herself.  Nevertheless  she  went 
towards  the  gate  whence  she  could  see  along  the  road. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  Emilia,  "  that  you  are  scarcely 
awake  yet  to  your  —  your  situation." 

She  was  trying  to  recover  her  superiority,  which 
Hetty  had  shaken  by  guessing  her  secret. 

"  Oh,  yes  I  am,"  Hetty  answered.  "  But  my  time  may 
be  short  for  talking :  so  I  use  what  ways  I  can  to  make 
my  sisters  Hsten.     Hark  !  " 

"  He  is  coming !  "    Nancy  announced,  running  towards 

N 


178  HETTY   WESLEY 

them  from  the  gate.     Honest  love  shone  in  her  eyes. 
"  He  is  coming — and  there  is  someone  with  him'.  " 

"Who.'"'  asked  Emilia.  Hetty's  eyes  put  th^  same 
question,  far  more  eagerly.  She  rose  up  :  her  face  was 
white. 

"I  don't  know.  He — they — are  half  a  mile  away. 
Yet  I  seem  to  know  the  figure.     It  is  odd  now  —  " 

Hetty  put  out  a  hand  and  leaned  it  against  the  wood- 
stack  to  steady  herself.  The  sharpened  end  of  a  stake 
pierced  her  palm,  but  she  did  not  feel  it. 

"Is  it  —  is  it  —  "  Her  lips  worked  and  formed  the 
words,  inaudibly. 

"  Run  and  look  again,"  commanded  Emilia. 

But  Hetty  turned  and  walked  swiftly  away.  Could  it 
be  he  ?  No  — and  yet  why  not  "^  Until  this  moment  she 
had  not  known  how  much  she  built  upon  that  chance. 
She  loved  him  still :  at  the  bottom  of  her  heart  most 
tenderly.  She  had  reproached  herself,  saying  that  her 
desire  for  him  had  nothing  to  do  with  love  —  was  no  genu- 
ine impulse  to  forgive,  but  a  selfish  cowardly  longing  to  be 
saved,  as  only  he  could  save  her.  She  was  wrong.  She 
desired  to  be  saved  :  but  she  desired  far  more  wildly 
that  he  should  play  the  man,  justify  her  love  and  earn 
forgiveness.  She  had —  and  was,  alas  !  to  prove  it —  an 
almost  infinite  capacity  to  forgive.  She,  Hetty,  of  the 
reckless  wit  and  tongue  —  she  would  meet  him  humbly 
—  as  one  whose  sin  had  been  as  deep  as  his  .  .  . 

Was  it  he.''  If  so,  she  would  beg  his  pardon  for 
thoughts  which  had  accused  him  of  cowardice  .  .  . 

She    could   not  wait  for  the   truth.     So  much  joy  it 


HETTY    WESLEY  1 79 

would  bring,  or  so  deep  anguish.  She  walked  away 
blindly  towards  the  fields,  not  once  looking  back. 

"  So  there  you're  hiding  !  "  cried  John  Lambert  trium- 
phantly, saluting  Nancy  with  a  smacking  kiss  on  either 
cheek,  and  in  no  way  disconcerted  by  Emilia's  presence. 

Nancy  pushed  him  away,  but  half-heartedly. 

"  No,  you  mustn't !  "  she  protested,  and  her  face  grew 
suddenly  tragic. 

"  Oh,  I  forgot  for  the  moment !  "  John  Lambert  tried 
to  look  doleful.  He  was  an  energetic  young  land-sur- 
veyor, with  tow-coloured  hair  and  a  face  incurably 
jolly. 

"  You  have  heard,  then  ?  "  asked  Emilia. 

"  Why,  bless  you,  your  father  was  around  to  see  me  at 
eight  o'clock  yesterday  morning,  or  some  such  hour.  He 
must  have  saddled  at  once.    He's  a  stickler,  is  the  Rector. 

*  Young  Mr.  Lambert,'  says  he,  very  formal,  or  some  such 
words, '  I  regret  to  say  I  must  retract  my  permission  that 
you  should  marry  into  my  family,  as  doubtless  you  will 
wish  to  be  released  of  your  troth.'  '  Hallo  !  '  says  I,  a  bit 
surprised,  but  knowing  his  crotchets  :  '  Why,  what  have 
I  been  doing  .^ '  '  Nothing,'  says  he.  '  Then  what  has  s/ie 
been  up  to  .'' '  "  —  this  with  a  wink  at  Emilia  —  '* '  Noth- 
ing,' says  he  again,  and  pours  out  the  whole  story,  or  so 
much  of  it  as  he  knew  and  guessed,  and  winds  up  with  *  I 
release  you,'  and  a  bow  very  formal  and  stiff.  '  How 
about  Miss  Nancy  ?'  I  asked ;  'does  she  release  me  too  .-* ' 

*  I  haven't  asked  her,'  he  says,  and  goes  on  that  he  is 
not  in  the  habit  of  being  guided  by  his  daughters.     To 


l8o  HETTY   WESLEY 

which  I  replied  :  *  Well,  I  am  —  by  one  of  *em,  anyhow 
—  or  hope  to  be.  And,  if  you  don't  mind,  I'll  step 
round  to-morrow  at  the  hour  she  expects  me.  I'd  do  it 
this  moment  if  I  hadn't  a  job  at  Bawtry.  And  I'm 
sorry  for  you,  Rector,'  I  said,  *  but  if  you  think  it  makes 
a  penn'orth  of  difference  to  me  apart  from  that,  you're 
mistaken.'     And  so  we  parted." 

"  Have  you  thought  of  the  consequences  .-* "  Nancy 
demanded,  tearful,  but  obviously  worshipping  this  very 
ordinary  young  man. 

''  No,  I  haven't." 

"She  is  back  again.'* 

*'  Oh,  is  she }  Then  she  found  him  out  quick.  Poor 
Hetty!  She  must  be  in  a  taking  too! "  His  face  expressed 
commiseration  for  a  moment,  but  with  an  effort,  and 
sprang  back  to  jollity  as  a  bow  is  released  from  its  cord. 
"  Curious,  how  quickly  a  bit  of  news  like  that  gets  about. 
I  picked  up  with  a  man  on  the  road  —  said  his  name  was 
Wright  and  he  comes  from  Lincoln  —  a  decent  fellow  — 
tradesman  —  plumber,  I  think.  At  all  events  he  knows 
a  deal  about  you,  and  began,  after  a  while,  pumping  me 
about  your  sister.  I  saw  in  a  moment  that  he  had  heard 
something,  and  gave  him  precious  little  change  for  his 
money.  Talked  as  if  he  knew  more  than  I  did,  if  only 
he  cared  to  tell :  but  of  course  I  didn't  encourage 
him." 

''Wright.?  —  a  plumber  from  Lincoln.?"  Emilia  fal- 
tered, and  her  eyes  met  Nancy's. 

"  That's  it.  He  had  business  with  your  father,  he  said. 
In  fact  I  left  him  on  his  way  to  knock  at  the  door." 


HETTY   WESLEY  l8l 

The  two  sisters  remembered  the  man  on  the  knoll, 
and  his  bill.     They  were  used  to  duns. 

Emilia's  eye  signalled  that  John  Lambert  was  to 
be  kept  away  from  the  house  at  all  costs ;  nor  did  she 
breathe  freely  until  she  saw  the  lovers  crossing  the 
fields  arm-in-arm. 


VI 

"    A  ND  my  business  is  important.     William  Wright  is 
-^J^   the  name,  and  you'd  better  say  that  I  come  from 
Lincoln  direct." 

The  answer  came  back  that  Mr.  Wesley  would  see 
Mr.  Wright  in  his  study,  and  thither  accordingly  Mr. 
Wright  lurched,  after  pulling  out  a  red  handkerchief  and 
dusting  his  boots  on  the  front  doorstep.  At  his  entrance 
Johnny  Whitelamb  rose,  gathered  up  some  papers  and 
retired.  The  Rector  looked  up  from  his  writing-table,  at 
the  same  moment  pushing  back  and  shutting  the  drawer 
upon  Hetty's  manuscript,  which  he  had  again  been 
studying. 

*'  Good  morning,  Mr.  Wright.  You  have  come  about 
your  bill,  I  suspect :  the  amount  of  which,  if  I  remem- 
ber—" 

"  Twelve-seventeen-six." 

The  Rector  sighed.  "It  is  extremely  awkward  for 
me  to  pay  you  just  now.  Still,  no  doubt  you  find  it  no 
less  awkward  to  wait :  and  since  you  have  come  all  the 
way  from  Lincoln  to  collect  it  —  " 

"Steady  a  bit,"  Mr.  Wright  interrupted;  "I  never 
said  that.     I  said  I'd  come  direct  from  Lincoln." 

Mr.  Wesley  looked  puzzled.  "  Pardon  me,  is  not  that 
the  same  thing  ? " 

182 


HETTY   WESLEY  1 83 

"  No,  it  ain't.  I'd  be  glad  enough  of  my  little  bit  of 
money  to  be  sure  :  but  there's  more  things  than  money 
in  this  world,  Mr.  Wesley." 

"  So  I  have  sometimes  endeavoured  to  teach." 

"There's  more  things  than  money,"  repeated  Mr. 
Wright,  not  to  be  denied  :  for  it  struck  him  as  a  really 
fine  utterance,  with  a  touch  of  the  epigrammatic  too,  of 
which  he  had  not  beheved  himself  capable.  In  the  stir 
of  his  feelings  he  was  conscious  of  an  unfamiliar  lofti- 
ness, and  conscious  also  that  it  did  him  credit.  He 
paused  and  added,  "  There's  darters,  for  instance." 

"  Daughters  ?  "     Mr.  Wesley  opened  his  eyes  wide. 

"  Darters."  Mr.  Wright  nodded  his  head  slowly  and 
took  a  step  nearer  to  the  table.  "  Has  Missy  come 
back  ? "  he  asked  in  a  hoarse  whisper. 

''If  you  mean  my  daughter  Mehetabel — yes,  she  has 
returned." 

"  I  saw  her  in  Lincoln  only  yesterday  morning.  She 
didn't  see  me  ;  but  having  (as  you  might  say)  my  sus- 
picions, I  follered  her  :  and  I  saw  enough  to  make  a  man 
feel  sore  —  leastways  when  he  takes  an  interest  in  a 
young  lady  as  I  do  in  Miss  Hetty.  For,  saving  your 
presence,  sir,  you've  a  good-looking  bunch,  but  she's  the 
pick.  'Tis  a  bad  business  —  a  very  bad  business,  Mr. 
Wesley.    What,  may  I  ask,  are  you  going  to  do  about  it  ? " 

"You  certainly  may  7iot  ask,  Mr.  Wright."  The  dan- 
ger-signal twinkled  for  a  moment  under  the  Rector's 
brows ;  but  he  repressed  it  and  turned  towards  a  cup- 
board in  the  wall,  where  in  a  drawer  lay  fifteen  pounds, 
ten   of   which   he   had   designed    to   send    to    Oxford. 


1 84  HETTY   WESLEY 

"Twelve  pounds   seventeen   shillings   and   sixpence,  I 
think  you  said  ?  " 

"  Never  mind  the  bill,  sir,  for  a  moment.  And  about 
Miss  Hetty  I'll  ask  ye  no  questions  if  you  forbid  it :  but 
something  I  came  to  say,  and  it'll  have  to  be  said.  First 
of  all  I  want  to  be  clear  with  you  that  I  had  no  hand  in 
this  affair.  On  the  contrary,  I  saw  it  coming  and  warned 
her  against  the  fellow." 

"  I  have  not  the  least  need  of  your  assurance.  I  did 
not  even  know  you  were  acquainted  —  " 

"  No,  you  don't  need  it ;  but  I  need  to  give  it.  Very 
well:  now  comes  my  point.  Here's  a  young  lady  beau- 
tiful as  roses,  and  that  accomplished,  and  that  thorough- 
bred, she  makes  an  honest  tradesman  feel  like  dirt  to 
look  upon  her.  Oh,  you  needn't  to  stare,  sir  !  William 
Wright  knows  breeding  when  he  sees  it,  in  man  or 
beast ;  and  as  for  feeling  like  dirt,  why  there' s  a  sort  of 
pleasure  in  it,  if  you  understand  me." 

"I  do  not." 

**  No :  I  don't  suppose  you  do.  You're  not  the  sort 
of  man  to  feel  like  dirt  before  anyone  —  not  before 
King  George  on  his  throne.  But  you  may  take  my 
word  for  it  there's  a  kind  of  man  that  Ukes  it :  when  he 
looks  at  a  woman,  I  mean.  *Take  care,  my  lady,'  I 
said ;  *  you're  delicate  and  proud  now,  and  as  dainty  as 
a  bit  of  china.  But  once  you  fall  off  the  shelf —  well, 
down  you  go,  and  'tis  all  over  but  the  broom  and  the 
dust-heap.  There  you'll  lie,  with  no  man  to  look  at 
you ;  worse  than  the  coarsest  pint-pot  a  man  will  drink 
out  of.'     You  understand  me  now,  Mr.  Wesley  } " 


HETTY   WESLEY  185 

*'I  do,  sir,  to  my  sorrow,  but  —  " 

*' But  that's  just  where  you're  wrong  —  yoM  don't !'' 
Mr.  Wright  cried  triumphantly,  and  pursued  with  an 
earnestness  which  held  Mr.  Wesley  still  in  his  chair. 
**  I'll  swear  to  you,  sir,  that  if  I  could  have  stopped  this, 
I  would :  ay,  though  it  killed  my  only  chance.  But  I 
couldn't.  The  thing's  done.  And  I  tell  you,  sir"  — 
his  face  was  flushed  now,  and  his  voice  shaking  — 
"  broken  as  she  is,  I  do  worship  Miss  Hetty  beyond 
any  woman  in  the  world.  I  do  worship  her  as  if  she 
had  tumbled  slap  out  of  heaven.  I — I  —  there  you 
have  it,  anyway:  so  if  you'll  leave  talking  about  the 
little  account  between  us  —  " 

Mr.  Wesley  stood  up,  drew  out  his  keys,  opened  the 
cupboard  and  began  counting  the  sum  out  upon  the  table. 

"  You  misunderstand  me,  sir :  indeed  you  do  ! "  Mr. 
Wright  protested. 

"Maybe,"  answered  the  Rector  grimly.  "But  I  hap- 
pen to  be  consulting  my  own  choice.  Twelve  pounds 
seventeen  and  sixpence,  I  think  you  said.?  You  had 
best  sit  down  and  write  out  a  receipt." 

"  But  why  interrupt  a  man,  sir,  when  he's  thinking  of 
higher  things,  and  with  his  hand  'most  too  shaky  to  hold 
a  pen  .? " 

The  Rector  walked  to  the  window  and  stood  waiting 
while  the  receipt  was  made  out :  then  took  the  paper, 
went  to  the  cupboard  and  filed  it,  locked  the  door  and 
resumed  his  seat. 

"  Now,  sir,  let  me  understand  your  further  business. 
You  desire,  I  gather,  to  marry  my  daughter  Mehetabel }  " 


l86  HETTY   WESLEY 

Mr.  Wright  gasped  and  swallowed  something  in  his 
throat.  Put  into  words,  his  audacity  frightened  him. 
**  That's  so,  sir,"  he  managed  to  answer. 

"Knowing  her  late  conduct.-*" 

"If   I  didn't,"    Mr.    Wright    answered   frankly,    "I 
shouldn't  ha'  been  fool  enough  to  come." 
"  "  You  are  a  convinced  Christian  ^  " 

"  I  go  to  church  off  and  on,  if  that's  what  you  mean, 
sir." 

"'Tis  not  in  the  least  what  I  mean,  Mr.  Wright." 

"There's  no  reason  why  I  shouldn't  go  oftener." 

"There  is  every  reason  why  you  should.  You  are 
able  to  maintain  my  daughter  ? " 

"  I  pay  my  way,  sir ;  though  hard  enough  it  is  for  an 
honest  tradesman  in  these  times."  Insensibly  he  dropped 
into  the  tone  of  one  pressing  for  payment.  The  Rector 
regarded  him  with  brows  drawn  down  and  the  angry 
light  half-veiled,  but  awake  in  his  eyes  now  and  growing. 
Mr.  Wright,  looking  up,  read  danger  and  misread  it  as 
threatening  /iim.  "Indeed,  sir,"  he  broke  out,  coura- 
geously enough,  "  I  feel  for  you  :  I  do,  indeed.  It  seems 
strange  enough  to  me  to  be  standing  here  and  asking 
you  for  such  a  thing.  But  when  a  man  feels  as  I  do 
t'ards  Miss  Hetty  he  don't  know  himself :  he'll  go  and 
do  that  for  which  he'd  call  another  man  a  fool.  Kick 
me  to  doors  if  you  want  to :  I  can't  help  it.  All  I  tell 
you  is,  I  worship  her  from  the  top  of  her  pretty  head  to 
her  shoestrings  ;  and  if  she  were  wife  of  mine  she  should 
neither  wash  nor  scrub,  cook  nor  mend,  but  a  room  I 
would  make  for  her,  and  chairs  and  cushions  she  should 


HETTY   WESLEY  1 8/ 

have  to  sit  on,  and  books  to  read,  and  pens  and  paper  to 
write  down  her  pretty  thoughts ;  and  not  a  word  of  the 
past,  but  me  looking  up  to  her  and  proud  all  the  days  of 
my  life,  and  studying  to  make  her  comfortable,  like  the 
lady  she  is  !  " 

During  this  remarkable  speech  Mr.  Wesley  sat  with- 
out a  smile.  At  the  end  of  it,  he  lifted  a  small  hand-bell 
from  the  writing-table  and  rang  it  twice. 

Mr.  Wright  made  sure  that  this  was  a  signal  for  his 
dismissal.  He  mopped  his  face.  ''Well,  it  can't  be 
helped.  I've  been  a  fool,  no  doubt :  but  you've  had  it 
straight  from  me,  as  between  man  and  man." 

He  picked  up  his  hat  and  was  turning  to  go,  when  the 
door  opened  and  Mrs.  Wesley  appeared. 

''  My  dear,"  said  the  Rector,  ''the  name  of  this  honest 
man  is  Wright  —  Mr.  William  Wright,  a  plumber,  of  Lin- 
coln. To  my  surprise  he  has  just  done  me  the  honour 
of  offering  to  marry  Mehetabel." 

Mrs.  Wesley  turned  from  the  bowing  Mr.  Wright  and 
fastened  on  her  husband  a  look  incredulous  but  scared. 

"I  need  scarcely  say  he  is  aware  of  —  of  the  events 
which  make  his  offer  an  extremely  generous  one." 

The  signal  in  the  Rector's  eyes  was  blazing  now.  His 
wife  rested  her  hand  on  a  chair-back  to  gain  strength 
against  she  knew  not  what.  Mr.  Wright  smiled,  vaguely 
apologetic ;  and  the  smile  made  him  look  exceedingly 
foolish  ;    but  she  saw  that  the  man  was  in  earnest. 

"I  think,"  pursued  Mr.  Wesley,  aware  of  her  terror, 
aware  of  the  pain  he  took  from  his  own  words,  but  now 
for  the  moment  fiercely  enjoying  both  —  "I  think,"  he 


1 88  HETTY   WESLEY 

pursued  slowly,  "  there  can  be  no  question  of  our  answer. 
I  must,  of  course,  make  inquiry  into  your  circumstances, 
and  assure  myself  that  I  am  not  bestowing  Mehetabel 
on  an  evil-liver.  Worthless  as  she  is,  I  owe  her  this 
precaution,  which  you  must  pardon.  I  will  be  prompt, 
sir.  In  two  days,  if  you  return,  you  shall  have  my  deci- 
sion ;  and  if  my  inquiries  have  satisfied  me  —  as  I  make 
no  doubt  they  will  —  my  wife  and  I  can  only  accept  your 
offer  and  express  our  high  sense  of  your  condescension." 

Mr.  Wright  gazed,  open-mouthed,  from  husband  to 
wife.  He  saw  that  Mrs.  Wesley  was  trembling,  but  her 
eyes  held  no  answer  for  him.     He  was  trembling,  too. 

''  You  mean  that  I'm  to  come  along } "  he  managed  to 
stammer. 

"  I  do,  sir.  On  the  day  after  to-morrow  you  may  come 
for  my  answer.     Meanwhile  —  " 

Mr.  Wright  never  knew  what  words  the  Rector  choked 
down.  They  would  have  surprised  him  considerably. 
As  it  was,  reading  his  dismissal  in  a  slight  motion  of 
Mrs.  Wesley's  hand,  he  made  his  escape ;  but  had  to 
pull  himself  up  on  the  front  doorstep  to  take  his  bear- 
ings and  assure  himself  that  he  stood  on  his  feet. 


VII 

"  She  graced  my  humble  roof  and  blest  my  life, 
Blest  me  by  a  far  greater  name -than  wife  ; 
Yet  still  I  bore  an  undisputed  sway, 
Nor  was 't  her  task,  but  pleasure,  to  obey ; 
Scarce  thought,  much  less  could  act,  what  I  denied. 
In  our  low  house  there  was  no  room  for  pride  :  "  etc. 

The  Rev.  Samuel  Wesley"^ s  Verses  of  his  Wife. 

"  It  is  an  unhappiness  almost  peculiar  to  our  family  that  your 
father  and  I  seldom  think  alike.   .  .  ." 

"  I  am,  I  believe,  got  on  the  right  side  of  fifty,  infirm  and  weak ; 
yet,  old  as  I  am,  since  I  have  taken  my  husband  '-  for  better,  for 
worse,^  I'll  take  my  residence  with  him  :  where  he  lives,  I  will  live : 
and  where  he  dies,  will  I  die  :  and  there  will  I  be  buried.  God  do  so 
unto  me  and  more  also,  if  aught  but  death  part  him  and  me." 

Mrs.  Wesley s  Letters. 

MRS.  WESLEY  guessed  well  enough  what  manner 
of  words  her  husband  had  choked  down.  She 
stood  and  watched  his  face,  waiting  for  him  to  lift  his 
eyes.  But  he  refused  obstinately  to  lift  them,  and  went 
on  rearranging  with  aimless  fingers  the  pens  and  papers 
on  his  writing-table. 

At  length  she  plucked  up  her  courage.  "  Husband," 
she  said,  *'  let  us  take  counsel  together.  We  are  in  a 
plight  that  wrath  will  not  cure  :  but,  be  angry  as  you 
will,  we  cannot  give  Hetty  to  this  man." 

It  needed  but  this.     He  fixed  his  eyes  on  hers  now, 

189 


1 90  HETTY   WESLEY 

and  the  light  in  them  first  quivered,  then  grew  steady  as 
a  beam.  "  Did  you  hear  me  give  my  promise  ? "  he 
demanded. 

"You  had  no  right  to  promise  it." 

"  I  do  not  break  promises.  And  I  take  others  at  their 
word.  Has  she  or  has  she  not  vowed  herself  ready  to 
marry  the  first  honest  man  who  will  take  her ;  ay,  and 
to  thank  him  }  " 

"  She  was  beside  herself.  We  cannot  take  advantage 
of  such  a  vow." 

*'  You  are  stripping  her  of  the  last  rag  of  honour.  I 
prefer  to  credit  her  with  courage  at  least :  to  believe  that 
she  hands  me  the  knife  and  says,  *cut  out  this  sore.' 
But  wittingly  or  no  she  has  handed  it  to  me,  and  by 
heaven,  ma'am,  I  will  use  it ! " 

"It  will  kill  her." 

"There  are  worse  things  than  death." 

"  But  if  —  if  the  ol/ier  should  seek  her  and  offer  atone- 
ment —  " 

Mr.  Wesley,  pacing  the  room  with  his  hands  beneath 
his  coat-tails,  halted  suddenly  and  flung  up  both  arms, 
as  a  man  lifts  a  stone  to  dash  it  down. 

"  What !  Accept  a  favour  from  /iim  !  Have  you 
lived  with  me  these  years  and  know  me  so  little  t  And 
can  you  fear  God  and  think  to  save  your  daughter  out 
of  hell  by  giving  her  back  her  sin,  to  rut  in  it .? " 

Mrs.  Wesley  shook  her  head  helplessly.  "  Let  her  be 
punished,  then,  in  God's  natural  way.  Vengeance  is 
His,  dear :  ah,  do  not  take  it  out  of  His  hands  in  your 
anger,  I  beseech  you!" 


HETTY   WESLEY  191 

"  God  for  my  sins  made  me  her  father,  and  gave  me 
authority  to  punish."  He  halted  again  and  cried  sud- 
denly, *'  Do  you  think  this  is  not  hurting  me  !  " 

"  Pause  then,  for  it  is  His  warning.  Who  is  this 
man.!*  What  do  you  know  of  him.!*  To  think  of  him 
and  Hetty  together  makes  my  flesh  creep  !  " 

"Would  you  rather,  then,  see  her  —  "  But  at  sound 
of  a  sobbing  cry  from  her,  he  checked  the  terrible 
question.  "You  are  trying  to  unnerve  me.  'Who  is 
he.?'  you  ask.  That  is  just  what  I  am  going  to  find 
out."  At  the  door  he  turned.  "We  have  other  chil- 
dren to  think  of,  pray  you  remember.  I  will  harbour  no 
wantons  in  my  house." 


VIII 

AT  first  Hetty  walked  swiftly  across  the  fields,  not 
daring  to  look  back.  "  Is  it  he  ? "  she  kept  asking 
herself,  and  as  often  cried  out  against  the  hope.  She 
had  no  right  to  pray  as  she  was  praying :  it  was  suing 
God  to  make  Himself  an  accomplice  in  sin.  She  ought 
to  hate  the  man,  yet  —  God  forgive  her  !  — she  loved  him 
still.  Was  it  possible  to  love  and  despise  together  ?  If 
he  should  come  .  .  .  She  caught  herself  picturing  their 
meeting.  He  would  follow  across  the  fields  in  search  of 
her.  She  would  hear  his  footstep.  Yet  she  would  not 
turn  at  once  —  he  should  not  see  how  her  heart  leapt. 
He  would  overtake  her,  call  her  by  name.  .  .  .  She  must 
not  be  proud  :  just  proud  enough  to  let  him  see  how  deep 
the  wrong  had  been.    But  she  would  be  humble  too.  .  .  . 

She  heard  no  footsteps.  No  voice  called  her.  Un- 
able to  endure  it  longer,  she  came  to  a  standstill  and 
looked  back.  Between  her  and  the  parsonage  buildings 
the  wide  fields  were  empty.  She  could  see  the  corner 
of  the  woodstack.  No  one  stood  there.  Away  to  the 
left  two  figures  diminished  by  distance  followed  a  foot- 
path arm-in-arm  —  John  Lambert  and  Nancy. 

A  great  blackness  fell  on  her.  She  had  no  pride  now  ; 
she  turned  and  went  slowly  back,  not  to  the  parsonage, 
but  aslant  by  the  bank  of  a  dyke  leading  to  the  high- 

192 


HETTY   WESLEY  1 93 

road  along  which,  a  few  hours  ago,  she  had  returned  so 
wearily.  She  must  watch  and  discover  what  man  it  was 
who  had  come  with  John  Lambert. 

Before  she  reached  the  low  bridge  by  the  road,  she 
heard  a  tune  whistled  and  a  man's  foot-fall  approaching 

—  not  his.  She  supposed  it  to  be  one  of  the  labourers, 
and  in  a  sudden  terror  hid  herself  behind  an  ash-bole  on 
the  brink. 

The  man  went  by,  still  whistling  cheerfully.  She 
peered  around  the  tree  and  watched  him  as  he  retreated 

—  a  broad-shouldered  man,  swinging  a  cudgel.  A  hun- 
dred yards  or  less  beyond  her  tree  he  halted,  with  his 
back  to  her,  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  and  stayed  his 
whistling  while  he  made  two  or  three  ludicrous  cuts  with 
his  cudgel  at  the  empty  air.  This  pantomime  over,  he 
resumed  his  way. 

She  recognized  him  by  so  much  of  his  back  as  showed 
over  the  dwarf  hedge.     It  was  William  Wright. 

Was  it  he,  then,  who  had  come  with  John  Lambert } 
Hetty  sat  down  by  the  tree,  and,  with  her  eyes  on  the 
slow  water  in  the  dyke,  began  to  think. 

To  be  sure  this  man  might  have  come  to  Wroote 
merely  for  his  money.  Yet  (as  she  firmly  believed)  it 
was  he  who  had  written  the  letter  which  in  effect  had 
led  to  her  running  away.  He  might  have  used  the  debt 
to-day  as  a  pretext  :  his  motive,  she  felt  certain,  was 
curiosity  to  learn  what  his  letter  had  brought  about. 

She  bore  him  no  grudge.  He  had  fired  the  train,  to 
be  sure :  but  she  was  clear-sighted  now,  saw  that  the 
true  fault  after  all  was  hers,  and  would  waste  no  time 
o 


ig4  HETTY  WESLEY 

in  accusing  others.  Very  soon  she  dismissed  him  from 
her  mind.  In  all  the  blank  hopelessness  of  her  fall  from 
hope  she  put  aside  self-pity,  and  tasked  herself  to  face 
the  worst.  To  Emilia  and  Nancy  she  had  spoken  lightly, 
as  if  scarcely  alive  to  her  dreadful  position,  still  less 
alive  to  her  sin.  They  had  misunderstood  her :  but  in 
truth  she  had  spoken  so  on  the  instinct  of  self-defence. 
Real  defence  she  had  none. 

She  knew  she  had  none.  And  let  it  be  said  here 
that  she  saw  no  comfortable  hope  in  religion.  She  had 
listened  to  a  plenty  of  doctrine  from  her  early  childhood, 
but  somehow  the  mysteries  of  God  had  seldom  occupied 
her  thoughts,  never  as  bearing  directly  on  the  questions 
of  daily  life.  If  asked,  for  example,  "  did  she  believe  in 
the  Trinity.?"  or  **did  she  believe  in  justification  by 
faith.?"  she  would  have  answered  *'Yes,"  without  hesi- 
tating for  a  moment.  But  in  fact  these  high  teachings 
lay  outside  her  private  religion,  which  amounted  to  this 

—  "  God  is  all-seeing  and  omnipotent.  To  please  Him 
I  must  be  good ;  and  being  good  gives  me  pleasure  in 
turn,  for  I  feel  that  His  eye  is  upon  me  and  He  approves. 
He  is  terribly  stern :  but  all-merciful  too.  If,  having 
done  wrong,  I  go  to  Him  contritely,  and  repent,  He  will 
give  me  a  chance  to  amend  my  ways,  and  if  I  honestly 
strive  to  amend  them.  He  will  forgive."  In  short  —  and 
perhaps  because  the  word  "Father"  helped  to  mislead 

—  she  had  made  for  herself  an  image  of  God  by  exalting 
and  magnifying  all  that  she  saw  best  in  her  parents. 
And  this  view  of  Him  her  parents  had  confirmed  insen- 
sibly, in  a  thousand  trifles,  by  laying  constant  daily  stress 


HETTY   WESLEY  195 

upon  good  conduct,  and  by  dictating  it  and  judging  her 
lapses  with  an  air  of  calm  authority,  which  took  for 
granted  that  what  pleased  them  was  exactly  what  would 
please  God. 

So  now,  having  done  that  which  her  mother  and  father 
could  not  forgive,  at  first  she  hardly  dared  to  hope  that 
God  could  by  any  means  forgive  it.  In  the  warm  sun- 
light of  loving  she  had  seen  for  a  while  that  her  father 
and  mother  were  not  always  wise  ;  nay,  long  beforehand 
in  her  discontent  she  had  been  groping  towards  this  dis- 
covery. But  now  that  the  sunshine  had  proved  a  cruel 
cheat,  she  ran  back  in  dismay  upon  the  old  guide-posts, 
and  they  pointed  to  a  hell  indeed. 

She  had  been  wicked.  She  craved  to  be  good.  She 
remembered  Mary  Magdalene,  whom  Christ  had  for- 
given, and  caught  at  a  hope  for  herself.  But  why  had 
Christ  forgiven  Mary.?  Because  she  had  been  sorry, 
and  turned  and  walked  the  rest  of  her  life  in  goodness } 
Because  He  had  foreseen  her  long  atonement  ?  So  Hetty 
believed.  For  her,  too,  then  the  way  back  to  forgiveness 
lay  through  conduct  —  always  through  conduct ;  and  for 
her  the  road  stretched  long,  for  not  until  death  could  she 
reach  assurance.  Of  a  way  to  forgiveness  through  faith 
(though  she  must  have  heard  of  it  a  hundred  times)  she 
scarcely  thought ;  still  less  of  a  way  through  faith  to 
instant  assurance.  To  those  who  have  not  travelled  by 
that  road  its  end  —  though  promised  on  the  honour  of 
God  and  proclaimed  incessantly  by  those  who  have 
travelled  and  found  it — seems  merely  incredible. 
Hardly  can  man  or  woman,  taught  from  infancy  to  sus- 


ig6  HETTY   WESLEY 

pect  false  guides,  trust  these  reports  of  a  country  where 
to  believe  and  to  have  are  one. 

Hetty  sat  by  the  tree  and  saw  the  road  beyond  her 
that  it  was  steep  and  full  of  suffering.  But  for  this  she 
did  not  refuse  it ;  she  desired  it  rather.  She  saw  also, 
that  along  it  was  no  well  of  forgiveness  to  refresh  her ; 
the  thirst  must  endure  till  she  reached  the  end  and  went 
down  in  darkness  to  the  river.  This,  too,  she  must  en- 
dure, God  in  mercy  helping  her.  What  daunted  her  was 
conscience  whispering  that  she  had  as  yet  no  right  to 
that  mercy,  no  right  even  to  tread  the  road.  For  though 
her  sin  was  abhorrent,  in  her  heart  she  loved  her  fellow- 
sinner  yet.  A  sound  of  hoofs  aroused  her.  Still  screened 
by  her  tree,  she  saw  her  father  trot  by  on  the  filly.  In 
spite  of  the  warm  settled  weather  he  carried  his  cloak 
before  him  strapped  across  the  holsters.  His  ride,  there- 
fore, would  be  a  long  one ;  to  Gainsborough  at  least  — 
or  to  Lincoln  .-* 

She  lifted  her  head  and  sat  erect  in  a  sharp  terror. 
Was  her  father  going  to  seek  him  ?  She  had  not  thought 
of  this  as  possible.     And  if  so  — 

Leaping  up  she  ran  into  the  open  and  gazed  after  him, 
as  though  the  sight  of  his  bobbing  figure  could  resolve 
her  crowding  surmises.  For  a  minute  and  more  she 
stood,  gazing  so ;  and  then,  turning,  was  aware  of  her 
mother  coming  slowly  towards  her  across  the  wide 
field. 

A  number  of  shallow  ditches,  dry  at  this  season, 
crossed  the  fields  in  parallels ;  and  at  each  of  these  Mrs. 
Wesley  picked  up  her  skirts.     "  How  young  she  is  ! " 


HETTY   WESLEY  197 

was  Hetty's  thought  as  she  came  nearer,  and  it  rose  — 
purely  from  habit  —  above  her  own  misery.  Hetty  was 
one  of  those  women  who  admire  other  women  ungrudg- 
ingly. She  knew  herself  to  be  beautiful,  yet  in  her  eyes 
her  mother  had  always  the  mien  of  a  goddess. 

For  her  mother's  character,  too,  she  had  the  deepest, 
tenderest  respect ;  but  it  was  the  respect  of  a  critic  rather 
than  of  a  child,  and  touched  with  humorous  wonder.  She 
knew  her  firmness  of  judgment,  her  self-control,  her 
courage  in  poverty,  the  secret  ardent  piety  illuminating 
her  commonest  daily  actions ;  she  knew  how  perfectly 
designed  that  character  was  for  masculine  needs,  how 
strong  for  guidance  the  will  even  in  yielding  —  but  alas  ! 
how  feeble  to  help  a  daughter. 

"Your  father  is  riding  to  Lincoln,"  said  Mrs.  Wesley 
as  she  drew  near.  Hetty  scanned  her  closely,  but  read  no 
encouragement  in  her  face.  She  fell  back  on  the  tone 
she  had  used  with  Emilia  and  Nancy,  knowing,  however, 
that  this  time  it  would  not  be  misunderstood. 

"  I  saw  that  he  had  taken  his  cloak  with  him,"  she 
answered.  ''  Be  frank  with  me,  mother.  You  would  be 
frank,  you  know,  with  Jacky  or  Charles,  if  they  were  in 
trouble  ;  whereas  now  you  are  not  looking  me  in  the  face, 
and  your  own  is  white." 

Mrs.  Wesley  did  not  answer,  but  walked  with  Hetty 
back  to  the  tree  and,  at  a  sign,  seated  herself  on  the 
bank  beside  her,  with  her  eyes  on  the  road. 

*'  I  have  been  sitting  here  for  quite  a  long  time,"  began 
Hetty,  after  a  pause,  and  went  on  lightly.  "  Before  father 
passed  a  tradesman  went  by  —  a  man  called  Wright." 


Iq8  HETTY   WESLEY 

She  paused  again  as  Mrs.  Wesley's  hands  made  an  invol- 
untary movement  in  her  lap.  "  He  has  a  bill  against 
father ;  he  called  with  it  on  the  evening  you  came  back 
from  London.     Is  father  riding  after  him  to  pay  it  ? " 

"  What  do  you  know  of  that  man  }  "  Mrs.  Wesley  mut- 
tered, with  her  head  turned  aside  and  her  hands  working. 
"Very  little;  yet  enough  to  suspect  more  than  you 
guess,"  said  Hetty  calmly. 

But  her  mother  showed  her  now  a  face  she  had  not 
looked  to  see. 

"  You  know,  then  .?  —  but  no,  you  cannot !  " 
It  was  Hetty's  turn  to  show  a  face  of  alarm.  "  What 
is  it,  dear  ?  I  thought — indeed  I  know — he  had  a  notion 
about  me  —  how  I  was  behaving  —  and  wrote  a  letter  to 
father.  But  that  cannot  matter  now.  Is  there  anything 
worse  ?  I  understood  he  had  merely  an  account  against 
father  ;  an  ordinary  bill.  It  is  something  worse  —  oh,  tell 
me  !  Father  is  riding  after  him  !  I  see  it  in  your  face. 
What  is  this  trouble  which  I  have  added  to .? " 

"The  debt  is  paid,  I  believe,"  answered  Mrs.  Wesley  ; 
but  she  shook  as  she  said  it. 

"  Yet  father  is  riding  after  him.  What  is  the  matter  ? 
Let  me  see  your  eyes  !  " 

But  her  mother  would  not.  In  the  long  silence,  look- 
ing at  her,  slowly  —  very  slowly  —  Hetty  understood. 
After  understanding  there  followed  another  long  silence, 
until  Hetty  drew  herself  up  against  the  bole  of  the  tree 
and  shivered. 

"  Come  back  to  the  house,  mother.  You  had  better 
take  my  arm." 


IX 

MR.  WESLEY  slept  that  night  at  Lincoln  and  rode 
back  the  next  afternoon,  reaching  Wroote  a  little 
before  nightfall.  After  stabling  the  filly  he  went  straight 
to  his  study.  Thither,  a  few  minutes  later,  Mrs.  Wesley 
carried  his  supper  on  a  tray.  He  kissed  her,  but  she 
saw  at  once  from  his  manner  that  he  would  not  talk, 
that  he  wished  to  be  alone. 

Hetty  and  Molly  sat  upstairs  in  the  dusk  of  the  garret, 
speaking  little.  Molly  had  exhausted  her  strength  for 
the  while  and  argued  no  more,  but  leaned  back  in  her 
chair  with  a  hand  laid  on  Hetty's  forehead,  who  —  crouch- 
ing on  the  floor  against  her  knee  —  drew  down  the  nerve- 
less fingers,  fondled  them  one  by  one  against  her  cheek, 
and  kissed  them,  thinking  her  own  thoughts. 

Downstairs  a  gloom,  a  breathless  terror  almost,  brooded 
over  the  circle  by  the  kitchen  hearth.  They  knew  of 
Hetty's  probable  fate  —  the  sentence  to  be  pronounced 
to-morrow ;  they  had  whispered  it  one  to  another,  and 
while  they  condemned  her  it  awed  them. 

Soon  after  nine  Johnny  Whitelamb  came  in  from  the 
fields  where  for  two  hours  he  had  been  walking  fiercely 
but  quite  aimlessly.  Great  drops  of  sweat  stood  out  on 
his  temples,  over  which  his  hair  fell  lank  and  clammy. 
His  shoes  and  stockings  were  dusted  over  with  fine  earth. 

199 


200  HETTY   WESLEY 

He  did  not  speak,  but  lit  his  candle  and  went  off  to  his 
bed-cupboard  under  the  stairs. 

Before  ten  o'clock  the  rest  of  the  family  crept  away  to 
bed.  Mr.  Wesley  sat  on  in  his  study.  This  was  the  night 
of  the  week  on  which  he  composed  his  Sunday  morning's 
sermon.     He  wrote  at  it  steadily  until  midnight. 

Next  morning,  about  an  hour  after  breakfast,  Mrs. 
Wesley  heard  the  hand-bell  rung  in  the  study  —  the 
sound  for  which  (it  seemed  to  her)  she  had  been  listen- 
ing in  affright  for  two  long  days.  She  went  at  once. 
In  the  passage  she  met  Johnny  Whitelamb  coming 
out. 

"I  am  to  fetch  Miss  Hetty,"  he  whispered  with  a 
world  of  dreadful  meaning. 

But  for  once  Johnny  was  not  strictly  obedient.  In- 
stead of  seeking  Hetty  he  went  first  across  the  farmyard 
and  through  a  small  gate  whence  a  path  took  him  to  a 
duck-pond  at  an  angle  of  the  kitchen-garden,  and  just 
outside  its  hedge.  A  pace  or  two  from  the  brink  stood 
a  grindstone  in  a  wooden  frame  ;  and  here,  on  the  grind- 
stone handle,  sat  Molly  watching  the  ducks. 

"  He  has  sent  for  her,"  announced  Johnny,  and  glanced 
towards  the  kitchen-garden.     "  Is  she  there  ? " 

Molly  rose  with  a  set  face.  She  did  not  answer  his 
question. 

"You  must  give  me  ten  minutes,"  she  said.  **Ten 
minutes;  on  no  account  must  you  bring  her  sooner." 

She  limped  off  towards  the  house. 

So  it  happened  that  as  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wesley  stood 
and  faced  each  other  across  the  writing-table  they  heard 


HETTY   WESLEY  201 

a  gentle  knock,  and,  turning  with  a  start,  saw  the  door 
open  and  Molly  walk  boldly  into  the  room. 

"  We  are  busy,"  said  the  Rector  sharply,  recovering 
himself.     "  I  did  not  send  for  you." 

'*I  know  it,"  Molly  answered;  "but  I  am  come  first 
to  explain." 

*'  If  you  are  here  to  speak  for  your  sister,  I  wish  to 
hear  no  explanations." 

"I  know  it,"  Molly  answered  again;  ''but  I  need  to 
give  them ;  and,  please  you,  father,  you  will  listen  to 
me." 

Mr.  Wesley  gasped.  Of  all  his  daughters  this  de- 
formed one  had  rendered  him  the  most  absolute  obedi- 
ence ;  of  her  alone  he  could  say  that,  apart  from  her 
bodily  weakness,  she  had  never  given  him  a  moment's 
distress.  In  a  family  where  high  courage  was  the  rule 
her  timidity  was  a  by-word ;  she  would  turn  pale  at  the 
least  word  of  anger.  But  she  was  brave  now,  as  a  dove 
to  defend  her  brood. 

"You  are  using  a  secret"  —  her  voice  trembled,  but 
almost  at  once  grew  steady  again  —  "a  secret  between 
me  and  Hetty  which  I  had  no  right  to  betray.  If  I  told 
it  to  mother,  it  was  because  she  seemed  to  doubt  of 
Hetty's  despair ;  because  I  believed,  if  only  she  knew, 
she  would  come  to  Hetty  and  help  her  —  the  more  eagerly 
the  worse  the  need.  Mother  will  tell  you  that  was  my 
only  reason.  I  was  very  foolish.  Mother  would  not 
help,  or  perhaps  she  could  not.  She  went  straight  to 
you  with  the  tale  —  this  poor  pitiful  tale  of  an  oath  taken 
in  passion  by  the  unhappiest  girl  on  earth.     Yes,  and 


202  HETTY   WESLEY 

the  dearest,  and  the  noblest !  .  .  .  But  why  do  I  tell  you 
this  ?  You  are  her  father  and  her  mother,  and  it  is 
nothing  to  you;  you  prefer  to  be  her  judges.  Only  I 
say  that  you  have  no  right  to  my  secret.  Give  it  back 
to  me !     You  shall  not  use  it  to  do  this  wickedness  !  " 

"  Molly  ! "  The  last  word  fairly  took  Mrs.  Wesley's 
breath  away ;  she  glanced  at  the  Rector ;  but  the  explo- 
sion she  expected  hung  fire,  although  he  was  breathing 
hard. 

Molly,  too,  was  panting,  but  she  went  on  recklessly. 
"  Yes ;  a  wickedness !  She  swore  it,  but  she  did  not 
mean  it.  Even  had  she  meant  it,  she  was  not  responsi- 
ble. .  .  .  No,  mother,  you  need  not  look  at  me  so.  I 
have  been  thinking,  and  father  shall  hear  the  truth  for 
once.  Had  he  been  kind  —  had  he  even  been  just  — 
Hetty  had  never  run  away.  Oh,  sir,  you  are  a  good 
man !  but  you  are  seldom  kind,  and  you  are  rarely  just. 
You  plan  what  seems  best  to  you  —  best  for  Sam  and 
Jacky  and  Charles  —  best  for  us  too,  maybe  ;  but  of  us, 
apart  from  your  wishes,  you  never  think  at  all.  Oh,  yes 
again,  you  are  good ;  but  your  temper  makes  life  a 
torture  —  " 

"  Silence  !  "  Mr.  Wesley  thundered  out  suddenly. 

But  the  thunder  did  not  affect  Molly  one  whit. 

"  You  may  do  what  you  will  to  me,  sir ;  but  you  have 
heard  the  truth.  You  are  a  tyrant  to  those  you  love  :  and 
now  in  your  tyranny  you  are  going  to  do  what  even  in 
your  tyranny  you  have  never  done  before  —  a  downright 
wickedness.  Thwarted  abroad,  you  have  drunk  of  power 
at  home  till  you  have  come  to  persuade  yourself  that  our 


HETTY   WESLEY  203 

souls  are  yours.  They  are  not.  You  may  condemn  Hetty 
to  misery  as  you  have  driven  —  yes,  driven  —  her  to  sin  : 
but  her  soul  is  not  yours  and  this  secret  of  hers  is  not 
yours ! " 

But  here  standing  beside  the  table  she  began  to  sway, 
then  to  sob  and  laugh  unnaturally.  Mrs.  Wesley,  in- 
stantly composed  at  sight  of  a  physical  breakdown, 
stepped  to  her  and  caught  her  by  both  wrists,  but  not 
before  she  had  pointed  a  finger  point-blank  at  her  father's 
gray  face. 

"But  —  but  —  he  is  ridiculous  !  "  she  gasped  between 
her  short  outcries.  *'  Look  at  him  !  A  ridiculous  little 
man ! 

Her  mother  took  her  by  both  shoulders  and  forced  her 
from  the  room,  almost  carried  her  upstairs,  dashed  cold 
water  over  her  face  and  left  her  to  sob  out  her  hysterics 
on  her  bed.  It  had  been  a  weak,  undignified  exit :  but 
those  last  words,  which  she  never  remembered  to  have 
uttered,  her  father  never  forgot.  In  all  the  rest  of  her 
short  life  Molly  never  had  a  sign  from  him  that  he  remem- 
bered her  outbreak :  also  he  never  again  spoke  a  harsh 
word  to  her. 

While  her  mother  bent  over  her,  waiting  for  the  attack 
to  subside,  a  knock  sounded  below  stairs.  Molly  heard 
it,  raised  herself  on  the  bed  for  a  moment,  staring  wildly, 
then  sank  back  helpless,  and  her  moaning  began  afresh. 

Mrs.  Wesley  turned  her  face  away  quickly ;  and  with 
that  her  gaze,  passing  out  through  the  garret  window,  fell 
on  a  figure  crossing  the  yard  towards  the  house. 


204  HETTY   WESLEY 

It  was  Hetty,  moving  to  the  sacrifice.  And  below,  on 
the  other  side  of  the  house,  the  man  was  knocking  to 
claim  her. 

For  a  moment  Mrs.  Wesley  felt  as  one  in  a  closing 
trap.  It  was  she,  not  Hetty,  upon  whom  these  iron  teeth 
of  fate  were  meeting ;  and  Hetty,  the  true  victim,  had 
become  part  of  the  machine  of  punishment.  The  illusion 
passed  almost  as  quickly  as  it  had  come,  and  with  a  glance 
at  the  figure  on  the  bed  she  hurried  downstairs  in  time 
to  meet  Hetty  at  the  back  door. 

As  she  opened  it  she  heard  William  Wright's  footstep 
in  the  passage  behind,  and  his  shuffling  halt  outside  the 
study  door,  while  Jane,  the  servant,  rapped  for  admittance. 

Hetty,  too,  heard  it,  and  bent  her  head. 

"We  had  best  go  in  at  once,"  Mrs.  Wesley  suggested, 
desperately  anxious  now  to  come  to  the  worst  and  get 
it  over. 

Hetty  bent  her  head  again  and  followed  without  a  word. 
The  two  men  were  standing  —  the  Rector  by  his  writing- 
table,  Mr.  Wright  a  little  inside  the  door.  He  drew  aside 
to  let  the  two  ladies  pass  and  waited,  fumbhng  with 
his  hat  and  stick  and  eying  the  pattern  of  the  carpet. 
There  was  no  boldness  about  him.  It  seemed  he  dared 
not  look  at  Hetty. 

"Ah!"  Mr.  Wesley  cleared  his  throat.  "There  is 
no  reason,  Mr.  Wright,  why  we  should  protract  a  busi- 
ness which  (as  you  may  guess)  must  needs  be  extremely 
painful  to  some  of  us  here.  I  have  made  inquiries  about 
you  and  find  that,  though  not  well-to-do,  you  bear  the 
reputation   of   an   honest   man,   even   a   kind   one.     It 


HETTY   WESLEY  205 

appears  that  at  great  cost  to  yourself  you  have  made 
provision  for  an  aged  father,  going  (I  am  told)  well 
beyond  the  strict  limits  of  a  son's  duty.  Filial  obedi- 
ence— "  The  Rector's  eyes  here  fell  upon  Hetty  and 
he  checked  himself.  "  But  I  will  not  enlarge  upon  that. 
You  ask  to  marry  my  daughter.  She  is  in  no  position 
to  decline  your  offer,  but  must  rather  accept  it  and  with 
thanks,  in  humility.  As  her  father  I  commend  her  to 
your  love  and  forbearance." 

There  was  silence  for  a  while.  Mr.  Wright  lifted  his 
head  :  and  now  his  culprit's  look  had  vanished  and  in 
its  place  was  one  of  genuine  earnestness. 

"  I  thank  ye,  sir,"  he  said;  ''but,  if  'tis  no  liberty,  I'd 
like  to  hear  what  Miss  Hetty  says."  Hetty,  too,  lifted 
her  eyes  and  for  the  first  time  since  entering  rested 
them  on  the  man  who  was  to  be  her  husband.  Mrs. 
Wesley  saw  how  they  blenched  and  how  she  compelled 
them  to  steadiness ;  and  turned  her  own  away. 

"Sir,"  said  Hetty,  "you  have  heard  my  father.  Al- 
though he  has  not  chosen  to  tell  you,  I  am  bound  and 
must  answer  under  my  bond  unless  he  release  me." 

"  For  your  salvation,  as  I  most  firmly  believe,  I  re- 
fuse to  release  you,"  said  the  Rector. 

"Then,  sir,"  she  continued,  still  with  her  eyes  on 
William  Wright,  "  under  my  bond  I  will  answer  you. 
If,  as  I  think,  those  who  marry  without  love  sin  against 
God  and  themselves,  my  father  is  driving  out  sin  by  sin. 
I  cannot  love  you  :  but  what  I  do  under  force  I  will  do 
with  an  honest  wish  to  please.  I  thank  you  for  stoop- 
ing to  one  whom  her  parents  cast  out.     I  shall  remem- 


206  HETTY   WESLEY 

ber  my  unworthiness  all  the  more  because  you  have 
overlooked  it.  You  are  all  strange  to  me.  Just  now  I 
shrink  from  you.  But  you  at  least  see  something  left 
in  me  to  value.  Noble  or  base  your  feeling  may  be  :  it 
is  something  which  these  two  have  not.  I  will  try  to 
think  it  noble  —  to  thank  you  for  it  all  my  days  —  to  be 
a  good  wife." 

She  held  out  her  hand.  As  Mn  Wright  extended  his, 
coarse  and  not  too  clean,  she  touched  it  with  her  finger- 
tips and  faced  her  father,  waiting  his  word  of  dismissal. 

But  the  Rector  was  looking  at  his  wife.  For  a 
moment  he  hesitated ;  then,  stepping  forward,  drew  her 
arm  within  his,  and  the  pair  left  the  room  together. 


X 

WILLIAM  WRIGHT  stared  at  the  door  as  it 
closed  upon  them.  Hetty  did  not  stir.  To  reach 
it  she  must  pass  him.  She  stood  by  the  writing-table, 
her  profile  turned  to  him,  her  body  bent  with  a  great 
shame ;  suffering  anguish,  yet  with  an  indignant  pride 
holding  it  down  and  driving  it  inward  as  she  repressed 
her  bosom's  rise  and  fall.  Even  a  callous  man  must 
have  pitied  her;  and  William  Wright,  though  a  vulgar 
man,  was  by  no  means  a  callous  one. 

"  Miss  Hetty  —  "  he  managed  to  say,  and  was  ashamed 
that  his  voice  shook. 

She  did  not  seem  to  hear. 

"  Miss  Hetty  —  "  His  voice  was  louder  and  he  saw 
that  she  heard.  ''There's  a  deal  I'd  like  to  say,  but  the 
things  that  come  uppermost  are  all  foolish.  F'r  instance, 
what  I  most  want  to  say  is  that  I'm  desperate  sorry  for 
you.  And  —  and  here's  another  thing,  though  'tis  even 
foolisher.  When  I  came  to  speak  to  your  father,  day 
before  yestiddy,  the  first  thing  he  did  was  to  pay  me 
down  every  penny  he  owed  me  —  not  that  I  was  thinking 
of  it  for  one  moment  —  " 

She  had  turned  her  head  away  at  first,  yet  not  as  if 
refusing  to  listen  :  but  now  from  a  sudden  stiffening  of 
her  shoulders,  he  saw  that  he  was  offending. 

207 


2o8  HETTY   WESLEY 

*'Nay,  now,"  he  persisted,  "but  you  must  hear  me 
finish.     I  want  you  to  know  what  I  did  with  it.     I  went 
home  with  it  jingHng  in  my  pocket,  and  called  out  my 
father  and  spread  it  on  the  counter  before  him.     '  Look 
at  it,'  I  said,  and  his  eyes  fairly  glistened.     '  And  now,'  I 
said,  *  hear  me  tell  you  that  neither  you  nor  I  touches  a 
penny  of  it.'     I  took  him  up  the  hill  to  the  cathedral  and 
crammed  it  into  a  box  there.     For  the  touch  of  it  burned 
my  fingers  till  I  got  rid  of  it,  same  as  it  burned  your 
father's.    The  old  man  fairly  capered  to  see  me  and  cried 
out  that  I  must  be  mad.      'Think  so.?'  said    I,  'then 
there's  worse  to  come.'      I  led  him  home  again,  went  to 
my  drawerful  of  savings,  and  counted  out  the  like  sum 
to  a  penny.     '  That's  towards  a  chair  for  her,'  said  I  ; 
*and   that's  towards  a  sofy;  and  there's  for  this,  and 
there's  for  that.     If  she  will  condescend  to  the  likes  of 
me,  Hke  a  queen  she  shall  be  treated  while  I  have  fingers 
to  work.'     That's  what  I  said.  Miss  Hetty  :    and  that's 
what  I  want  to  tell  you,  foolish  as  you'll  think  it,  and 
rough  belike." 

She  turned  suddenly  upon  him  with  swimming  eyes. 

"  'Condescend  '  ?  "  she  echoed. 

He  nodded.  "  That's  so  :  and  like  dirt  you  may  treat 
me.     You  did  once,  you  know.     I'd  like  it  to  go  on." 

She  spread  her  hands  vaguely.  "  Why  will  you  be 
kind  to  me?  when  —  when  —  " 

"  When  you'd  far  liefer  have  every  excuse  to  hate  the 
sight  of  me.  Oh,  I  understand !  Well,  I'd  even  give 
you  that,  if  it  pleased  you,  and  I  could." 

She  looked  at  him  now,  long  and  earnestly.     Her  next 


HETTY  WESLEY  209 

question  was  a  strange  one  and  had  little  connection 
with  her  thoughts. 

"  Did  you  sign  that  letter  ?  " 

"What  letter?" 

**  The  one  you  sent  to  father." 

He  fingered  his  jaw  in  a  puzzled  way.  **  I  never  sent 
any  letter  to  your  father.  Writing's  none  so  easy  to  me, 
though  sorry  I  am  to  say  it." 

"Then  it  must  have  been  —  "  Light  broke  on  her, 
but  she  paused  and  suppressed  Patty's  name. 

"  I  like  you,"  she  went  on,  "  because  you  speak  hon- 
estly with  me." 

"  Come,  that's  better." 

"  No :  I  want  you  to  understand.  It's  because  your 
honesty  makes  me  able  to  be  honest  with  you."  She 
drew  herself  up  to  the  height  of  her  superb  beauty  and 
touched  her  breast.  "You  see  me.''"  she  asked  in  a 
low,  hurried  voice.  "  I  am  yours.  My  father  has  said 
it,  and  I  repeat  it,  adding  this :  I  make  no  bargain, 
except  that  you  will  be  honest.  I  am  to  be  your  wife : 
use  me  as  you  will.  All  that  life  with  you  calls  to  be 
undergone,  I  will  undergo :  as  his  drudge  to  the  hind 
in  the  fields  I  offer  myself.  Nothing  less  than  that 
shall  satisfy  me,  since  through  it  —  can  you  not  see .?  —  I 
must  save  myself.  But  oh,  sir !  since  something  in  me 
makes  you  prize  me  above  other  women,  even  as  I  am, 
let  that  compel  you  to  be  open  with  me  always  !  When, 
as  it  will,  a  thought  makes  you  turn  from  me  —  though 
but  for  a  moment  —  do  not  hide  it.  I  would  drink  all 
the  cup.     I  must  atone  —  let  me  atone !  " 


2IO  HETTY   WESLEY 

She  walked  straight  up  to  him  in  her  urgency,  but 
suddenly  dropped  her  arms.  He  stared  at  her,  be- 
wildered. 

"  I  shall  have  no  such  thoughts,  Miss  Hetty." 


XI 

BEYOND  the  kitchen-garden  a  raised  causeway  led 
into  the  Bawtry  road,  between  an  old  drain  of  the 
Torne  River  and  a  narrower  ditch  running  down  to  the 
parsonage  duck-pond.  The  ditch  as  a  rule  was  dry,  or 
almost  dry,  being  fed  through  a  sluice  in  the  embank- 
ment from  time  to  time  when  the  waters  of  the  duck- 
pond  needed  replenishing. 

Half  an  hour  later,  as  WiUiam  Wright  —  who  had  busi- 
ness at  Bawtry  —  left  the  yard  by  the  small  gate  and 
came  stepping  briskly  by  the  pond,  Johnny  Whitelamb 
pushed  through  the  hedge  at  the  end  of  the  kitchen- 
garden,  attempted  a  flying  leap  across  the  ditch  and 
scrambled  —  with  one  leg  plastered  in  mud  to  the  knee 
—  up  to  the  causeway,  where  he  stood  waving  his  arms 
like  a  windmill  and  uttering  sounds  as  rapid  as  they  were 
incoherent. 

The  plumber,  catching  sight  of  this  agitated  figure  on 
the  path  ahead,  stood  still  for  a  moment.  He  understood 
neither  the  noises  nor  the  uncouth  gestures,  but  made 
sure  that  some  accident  had  happened. 

"  Here,  what's  wrong.?"  he  demanded,  moving  on  and 
coming  to  a  halt  again  in  front  of  Johnny. 

But  still  Johnny  gurgled  and  choked.  ''You  —  you 
mustn't  come  here  !  " 

211 


212  HETTY   WESLEY 

"  Eh,  why  not  ?     What's  doing  ?  " 

"  You  m ustn't  come  here.  You  shan't — it's  worse  than 
murder !     P-promise  me  you  won't  come  here  again." 

Mr.  Wright  began  to  understand,  and  his  eye  twin- 
kled.    "  Who's  to  prevent  it,  now  }  " 

"  /  will,  if  you  w-won't  Usten  to  reason.  You  are  kill- 
ing her,  between  you:  you  don't  know  w-what  wickedness 
you're  doing.     She's  —  she's  an  angel." 

"Bravo,  my  lad!  So  she  is,  every  inch  of  her." 
The  plumber  held  out  his  hand. 

Johnny  drew  his  away  indignantly  and  began  to  choke 
again.  "  She's  not  for  you.  It'll  all  come  right  if  you 
stay  away.     P-promise  me  you'll  stay  away  !  " 

**  There  I  don't  agree  with  you." 

"  C-can  you  fight }  " 

"  A  bit.  Here,  keep  on  your  coat,  boy,  and  don't  be 
a  fool.     Hands  off,  you  young  dolt !  " 

There  was  barely  room  on  the  causeway  for  two  to 
pass.  As  Mr.  Wright  thrust  by,  Johnny  snatched  furi- 
ously at  his  arm  and  with  just  enough  force  to  slew  him 
round.     Letting  go,  he  struck  for  his  face. 

The  plumber  had  no  wish  to  hurt  the  lad.  Being  a 
quick  man  with  his  fists,  he  parried  the  blow  easily 
enough. 

"  No  more  of  this !  "  he  shouted,  and  as  Johnny  leapt 
again,  hurled  him  off  with  a  backward  sweep  of  his 
wrist. 

He  must  have  put  more  weight  into  it  than  he  in- 
tended. Johnny,  flung  to  the  very  edge  of  the  cause- 
way, floundered  twice  to  recover  his  balance ;  his  feet 


HETTY   WESLEY  213 

slipped  on  the  mud,  and  with  hands  clutching  the  air  he 
soused  into  the  water  at  Mr.  Wright's  feet. 

"Hullo!"  called  out  a  cheerful  voice.  **Whar  you 
two  up  to  .''  " 

Dick  Ellison  was  coming  down  the  causeway  towards 
the  house,  somewhat  advanced  in  liquor,  though  it  wanted 
an  hour  of  noon.  Wright,  who  knew  him  only  by  sight, 
did  not  observe  this  at  once.  "Come  and  help,"  he 
answered,  dropping  on  his  knees  by  the  brink  and  offer- 
ing Johnny  a  hand. 

Johnny  declined  it.  He  was  a  strong  swimmer,  and 
in  a  couple  of  strokes  regained  the  bank  and  scrambled 
to  firm  ground  again,  dripping  from  head  to  heel  and 
looking  excessively  foolish. 

*'Wha's  matter.?"  demanded  Mr.  ElUson  again. 

"Nothing  he  need  be  ashamed  of,"  answered  Mr. 
Wright.     "  Here,  shake  hands,  my  boy  !  " 

But  Johnny  dropped  his  head  and  walked  away,  hid- 
ing tears  of  rage  and  shame. 

"Sulky  young  pig,"  commented  Mr.  Ellison,  staring 
blearily  after  him.  A  thought  appeared  to  strike  him  — 
"  Blesh  me,  you're  the  new  son-law  !  " 

"Yes,  sir:  Miss  Hetty  has  just  honoured  me  with  her 
consent." 

"Consent.-^  I'll  lay  she  had  to!  Sukey  —  tha's  my 
wife  —  told  me  you  were  in  the  wind.  /  said  the  old 
man's  wrong  —  all  right,  patching  it  up —  Shtill  —  " 
He  paused  and  corrected  himself  painfully.  "  Still, 
duty  to  c'nsult  family ;  'stead  of  which,  he  takes  law 
in's  own  hands.     Now  list'n  this,  Mr. " 


214 


HETTY   WESLEY 


"Wright." 

**  Qui-so."  He  pulled  himself  together  again.  "  Quite 
so.  Now  /  say,  it's  hard  on  the  jade.  You  say,  *  Noth- 
ing of  the  sort :  she's  made  her  bed  and  must  lie  on  it.'  " 

"  No,  I  don't." 

"I  —  er  —  beg  your  pardon }  You  must  allow  me 
finish  my  argument,  /say,  '  Look  here,  I'm  a  gentleman ; 
feelings  of  a  gentleman '  —    You're  not  a  gentleman,  eh  t " 

"■  Not  a  bit  like  one,"  said  the  plumber  cheerfully. 

"Tha's  what  I  thought.  Allow  me  to  say  so,  I  re- 
spect you  for  it  —  speaking  out,  I  mean.  Now  what  I 
say  is,  wench  kicks  over  the  traces  —  serve  her  right 
wharrever  happens  :  but  there's  family  to  consider —  " 

Here  Mr.  Wright  interrupted  firmly.  "  Bless  your 
heart,  Mr.  Ellison,  I  quite  see.  I've  made  a  mistake 
this  morning." 

"  No  offence,  you  understand." 

"  No  offence  at  all.  It  turns  out  I've  given  the 
wrong  man  a  ducking." 

*'  Eh  } " 

"  It  can  easily  be  set  right.  Some  day  when  you're 
sober.     Good  morning  !  " 

WilHam  Wright  went  his  way  whistling.  Dick  Elli- 
son stared  along  the  causeway  after  him. 

"  Low  brute  !  "  he  said  musingly.  "  If  she's  to  marry 
a  fellow  like  that,  Sukey  shan't  visit  her.  I'm  sorry  for 
the  girl,  too." 

Beyond  the  hedge,  in  a  corner  of  the  kitchen-garden, 
Johnny  Whitelamb  lay  in  his  wet  clothes  with  his  face 


HETTY    WESLEY  21$ 

buried  in  a  heap  of  mown  grass.     He  had  failed,  and 
shamefully,  after  preparing  himself  for  the  interview  by 
pacing  (it  seemed  to  him,  for  hours)  the  box-bordered 
walks  which  Molly  had  planted  with  Hlies  and  holly- 
hocks, pinks    and    sweet-wiUiams    and  mignonette.     It 
was  high  June  now,  and  the  garden  breaking  into  glory. 
He  had  tasted  all  its  mingled  odours  this  morning  while 
he  followed  the  paths  in  search  of  Hetty ;  and  when  at 
length  he  had  found  her  under  the   great  filbert  tree, 
they  seemed  to  float  about  her  and  hedge  her  as  with 
the  aura  of  a  goddess.     He  had  delivered  his  message, 
trembling:  had  watched  her  go  with  firm  step  to  the 
sacrifice.     And  then  —  poor  boy  —  wild  adoration  had 
filled  him  with  all  the  courage  of  all  the  knights  in  Chris- 
tendom.     He   alone  would  champion    her  against  the 
dragon.  .  .  .     And  the  dragon  had  flung  him  into  the 
ditch  like  a  rat !     He  hid  his  face  in  the  sweet-smelling 
hillock. 

For  years  after,  the  scent  of  a  garden  in  June,  or  of 
new-mown  hay,  caused  him  misery,  recalling  this  the 
most  abject  hour  of  his  life. 


XII 

SIX  weeks  later  Mr.  Wesley  married  William  Wright 
and  Hetty  in  the  bare  little  church  of  Wroote. 
Her  sisters  (among  them  Patty,  newly  returned  from 
Kelstein)  sat  at  home :  their  father  had  forbidden  them 
to  attend.  A  fortnight  before  they  had  stood  as  brides- 
maids at  Nancy's  wedding  with  John  Lambert,  and  all 
but  Molly  had  contrived  to  be  mirthful  and  forget  for 
a  day  the  shadow  on  the  household  and  the  miserable 
woman  upstairs.  Hetty  had  no  bridesmaids,  no  ringing 
of  bells.  The  church  would  have  been  empty  but  for  a 
steady  downpour  which  soaked  the  new-mown  hay,  and 
turned  the  fields  into  swamps,  driving  the  labourers  and 
their  wives,  who  else  had  been  too  busy,  to  take  recrea- 
tion in  a  ceremony  of  scandal.  For  of  course  the  whole 
story  had  been  whispered  abroad.  It  was  to  keep  them 
away  that  the  Rector  had  chosen  a  date  in  the  very 
middle  of  the  hay-harvest,  and  they  knew  it  and  en- 
joyed his  discomfiture.  He,  on  his  part,  when  the  morn- 
ing broke  with  black  and  low-lying  clouds,  had  been 
tempted  to  read  the  service  in  the  parlour  at  home  ;  but 
his  old  obstinacy  had  asserted  itself.  Hetty's  feelings 
he  did  not  consider. 

The  congregation  pitied  Hetty.     She,  with  Molly  to 
help,  had  been  the  parish  alms-giver,  here  and  at  Ep- 

216 


HETTY   WESLEY  21/ 

worth  ;  and  though  the  alms  had  been  small,  kind  words 
had  gone  with  the  giving.  Of  gratitude  —  active  grati- 
tude—  they  were  by  race  incapable:  also  they  were 
shrewd  enough  to  detect  the  Wesley  habit  of  conde- 
scending to  be  kind.  She  belonged  to  another  world 
than  theirs  :  she  was  a  lady,  blood  and  bone.  But  they 
were  proud  of  her  beauty,  and  talked  of  it,  and  forgave 
her  for  the  sake  of  it. 

They  hated  the  Rector  ;  yet  with  so  much  of  fear  as 
kept  them  huddled  to-day  at  the  west  end  under  the 
dark  gallery.  A  space  of  empty  pews  divided  them 
from  Mrs.  Wesley,  standing  solitary  behind  her  daughter 
at  the  chancel  step. 

"  O  God,  who  hast  consecrated  the  state  of  Matrimony 
to  such  an  excellent  mystery  that  in  it  is  signified  and 
represented  the  spiritual  marriage  and  unity  betwixt 
Christ  and  his  Church :  look  mercifully  upon  these  thy 
servants.  .  .  ." 

A  squall  of  rain  burst  upon  the  south  windows,  dark- 
ening the  nave.  Mrs.  Wesley  started,  and  involuntarily 
her  hands  went  up  towards  her  ears.  Then  she  remem- 
bered, dropped  them  and  stood  listening  with  her  arms 
rigid. 

Under  a  penthouse  in  the  parsonage  yard,  Molly  and 
Johnny  Whitelamb  watched  the  downpour,  and  the 
cocks  and  hens  dismally  rufHing  under  shelter  of  the 
eaves. 

"She  was  the  best  of  us  all,  the  bravest  and  the 
cleverest." 


2i8  HETTY   WESLEY 

"  She  was  like  no  one  in  the  world,"  said  Johnny. 

"  And  the  most  loyal.  She  loved  me  best,  and  I  have 
done  nothing  for  her." 

"You  did  what  you  could,  Miss  Molly." 

"  If  I  were  a  man  —  Oh,  Johnny,  of  what  use  are 
my  brothers  to  me  } " 

Johnny  was  silent. 

"The  others  were  jealous  of  her.  She  could  no  more 
help  excelUng  them  in  wit  and  spirits  than  she  could  in 
looks.  None  of  them  understood  her,  but  I  only  —  and 
you,  I  think,  a  little." 

"  It  was  an  honour  to  know  her  and  serve  her.  I  shall 
never  forget  her.  Miss  Molly." 

"  We  will  never  forget  her  — we  two.  When  the  others 
are  not  listening  we  will  talk  about  her  together  and  say, 
She  did  this  or  that ;  or,  Just  so  she  looked  ;  or,  At  such 
a  time  she  was  happy.  We  will  recollect  her  sayings  and 
remind  each  other.     Oh,  Hetty  !  dear,  dear  Hetty  !  " 

Johnny  was  fairly  blubbering.  "  But  she  will  visit  us 
sometimes.     Lincoln  is  no  great  distance." 

Molly  shook  her  head  disconsolately.     "  I  do  not  think 
she  will  come.    Father  will  refuse  to  see  her.    For  my  part, 
after  the  wickedness  he  has  committed  this  day  —  " 
"  Hush,  Miss  Molly  !  " 

"Is  it  not  wrong  he  is  doing?  Is  it  not  a  wicked 
wrong }  Answer  me,  John  Whitelamb,  if  we  two  are  ever 
to  speak  of  her  again."  She  glanced  at  his  face  and  read 
how  terribly  old  fidelity  and  new  distrust  were  tearing 
him  between  them.  "  Ah,  I  understand !  "  she  said,  and 
laid  a  hand  on  his  coat-sleeve. 


HETTY   WESLEY  219 

The  service  over  and  the  names  signed  in  the  vestry, 
Mr.  Wesley  marched  out  to  the  porch  for  a  view  of  the 
weather.  Half  a  score  of  gossips  were  gathered  there 
among  the  sodden  graves  awaiting  the  bridal  party.  They 
gave  back  a  little,  nudging  and  plucking  one  another  by 
the  arm  ;  for  all  the  notice  he  took  of  them  they  might 
have  been  tombstones. 

The  rain  had  ceased  to  fall,  and  though  leaden  clouds 
rolled  up  from  the  south-west,  threatening  more,  a  pale 
gleam,  almost  of  sunshine,  rested  on  the  dreary  land- 
scape. The  Rector  nodded  his  head  and  strode  briskly 
down  the  muddy  path.  The  newly  married  pair  followed 
at  a  respectful  distance,  Mrs.  Wesley  close  behind.  Hetty 
showed  no  sign  of  emotion.  She  had  given  her  responses 
clearly  and  audibly  before  the  altar,  and  she  bore  herself 
as  bravely  now. 

As  they  entered  the  house  the  Rector  turned  and  held 
out  his  hand  to  the  bridegroom.  **  You  will  not  find  us 
hospitable,  I  fear.  But  there  are  some  refreshments  laid 
in  the  parlour :  and  my  wife  will  see  that  you  are  served 
while  I  order  the  gig.  Your  wife  will  have  time  to  say 
farewell  to  her  sisters  if  she  chooses.  As  I  may  not  see 
her  again,  I  commit  her  to  your  kindness  and  God's 
forgiveness." 

"At  least  you  will  bless  her,  husband!"  entreated 
Mrs.  Wesley.     But  he  turned  away. 

Twenty  minutes  later  bridegroom  and  bride  drove 
southward  towards  Lincoln,  under  a  lashing  shower  and 
with  the  wind  in  their  faces. 


XIII 

A  FEW  words  will  tie  together  the  following  letters 
or  extracts  from  letters.  John  was  ordained  on 
September  19th.  A  few  weeks  later  he  preached  his  first 
sermon,  at  South  Leigh,  a  village  near  Witney  and  but 
a  few  miles  out  of  Oxford.  He  and  Charles  visited 
Wroote  that  Christmas,  and  on  January  i  ith  he  preached 
a  funeral  sermon  at  Epworth  for  John  Griffith,  a  hopeful 
young  man,  the  son  of  one  of  his  father's  parishioners, 
taking  for  his  theme  2  Samuel  xii.  23,  "  But  now  he  is 
dead,  wherefore  should  I  fast?  Can  I  bring  him  back 
again  ?  I  shall  go  to  him,  but  he  shall  not  return  to  me  " 
— a  text  obvious  enough.  He  returned  for  the  beginning 
of  the  Oxford  Lent  Term,  having  had  no  sight  of  Hetty. 
His  chances  of  a  fellowship  at  Lincoln  College  had  long 
been  debated,  and  on  March  17th  he  was  elected.  Mean- 
while Charles  had  passed  out  of  Westminster  with  a 
studentship  to  support  him  at  Christ  Church,  the  college 
his  brother  was  leaving. 

The  first  letter  —  from  Patty  —  bears  no  date,  but  was 
written  from  Wroote  about  the  time  of  John's  ordination. 

From  Martha  Wesley  to  her  brother  John 

Dear  Brother,  —  I  believe  it  is  above  half  a  year  since 
I  wrote  to  you,  and  yet,  though  it  is  so  long  since,  you 
never  were  so  good  as  to  write  to  me  again ;  and  you 

220 


HETTY   WESLEY  221 

have  written  several  times  since  to  my  sisters,  but  have 
perfectly  neglected  your  loving  sister  Martha,  as  if  you 
had  not  known  there  was  such  a  person  in  the  world ; 
at  which  I  pretended  to  be  so  angry  that  I  resolved  I 
would  never  write  to  you  more.  Yet  my  anger  soon  gave 
way  to  my  love,  as  it  always  does  whenever  I  chance  to 
be  angry  with  you.  But  you  only  confirm  me  in  the  truth 
of  an  observation  I  have  since  made;  which  is,  that  if 
ever  I  love  any  person  very  well,  and  desire  to  be  loved 
by  them  in  return  —  as,  to  be  sure,  whoever  loves  desires 
to  be  loved  —  I  always  meet  with  unkind  returns.  I  shall 
be  exceedingly  glad  if  you  get  the  Fellowship  you  stand 
for ;  which  if  you  do  I  shall  hope  that  one  of  the  family 
besides  my  brother  Sam  will  be  provided  for.  I  believe 
you  very  well  deserve  to  be  happy,  and  I  sincerely  wish 
you  may  be  so  both  in  this  life  and  the  next. 

For  my  own  particular  I  have  long  looked  upon  my- 
self to  be  what  the  world  calls  ruined  —  that  is,  I  believe 
there  will  never  be  any  provision  made  for  me,  but  when 
my  father  dies  I  shall  have  my  choice  of  three  things,  — 
starving,  going  to  a  common  service,  or  marrying  meanly 
as  my  sisters  have  done :  none  of  which  I  like,  nor  do  I 
think  it  possible  for  a  woman  to  be  happy  with  a  man 
that  is  7iot  a  gentleman,  for  he  whose  mind  is  virtuous  is 
alone  of  noble  kind.  Yet  what  can  a  woman  expect  but 
misery  }  My  brother  Ellison  wants  all  but  riches  ;  my 
brother  Lambert,  I  hope,  has  a  little  religion ;  poor  brother 
Wright  has  abundance  of  good-nature,  and,  I  hope,  is  re- 
ligious ;  and  yet  sister  Hetty  is,  I  fear,  entirely  ruined, 
though  it  is  not  her  husband's  fault. 


222  HETTY  WESLEY 

If  you  would  be  so  good  as  to  let  me  hear  from  you, 
you  would  add  much  to  my  satisfaction.  But  nothing  can 
make  me  more  than  I  am  already,  dear  brother,  your 
sincere  friend  and  loving  sister, 

Martha  Wesley. 

P.S.  —  I  hope  you  will  be  so  kind  as  to  pardon  the 
many  faults  in  my  letter.  You  must  not  expect  I  can 
write  like  sister  Emily  or  sister  Hetty.  I  hope,  too,  that 
when  I  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  at  Wroote  you 
will  set  me  some  more  copies,  that  I  may  not  write  so 
miserably.^ 

From  Samuel  Wesley  to  his  son  John 

Wroote,  March  21,  1726. 

Dear  Mr.  Fellow-elect  of  Lincoln,  —  I  have  done 
more  than  I  could  for  you.  On  your  waiting  on  Dr. 
Morley  with  this  he  will  pay  you  £^\2.  You  are  inex- 
pressibly obliged  to  that  generous  man.  We  are  all  as 
well  as  can  be  expected.     Your  loving  father, 

Samuel  Wesley. 

From  the  same  to  the  same 

Wroote,  April  i,  1726. 
Dear  son  John,  —  I  had  both  yours  since  the  election. 
The  last  ;£i2  pinched  me  so  hard  that  I  am  forced  to 

ijohn  had  taught  Patty  to  write.  He  and  his  favourite  sister  had 
many  points  of  resemblance,  not  in  handwriting  only,  but  in  features, 
speech,  and  habits.  Dr.  Adam  Qarke,  who  knew  them  both  intimately, 
declares  that  if  they  could  have  been  dressed  alike,  it  would  not  have  been 
possible  to  distinguish  one  from  the  other. 


HETTY   WESLEY  223 

beg  time  of  your  brother  Sam  till  after  harvest  to  pay 
him  the;£io  that  you  say  he  lent  you.  Nor  shall  I  have 
so  much  as  that  (perhaps  not  £$)  to  keep  my  family  till 
after  harvest ;  and  I  do  not  expect  that  I  shall  be  able 
to  do  anything  for  Charles  when  he  goes  to  the  Univer- 
sity. What  will  be  my  own  fate  before  the  summer  is 
over  God  only  knows.  Sed passi  gravtora.  Wherever  I 
am,  my  Jack  is  Fellow  of  Lincoln. 

All  at  present  from  your  loving  father, 

Samuel  Wesley. 

From  John  Wesley  to  his  brother  Samuel 

Lincoln  College,  Oxon., 

April  4,  1726. 

Dear  Brother,  —  My  father  very  unexpectedly,  a  week 
ago,  sent  me  a  bill  on  Dr.  Morley  for  ;£i2,  which  he 
had  paid  to  the  Rector's  use  at  Gainsborough ;  so  that 
now  all  my  debts  are  paid,  and  I  have  still  above  £^\o 
remaining.  If  I  could  have  leave  to  stay  in  the  country 
till  my  college  allowance  commences,  this  money  would 
abundantly  suffice  me  till  then. 

I  never  knew  a  college  besides  ours  whereof  the  mem- 
bers were  so  perfectly  well  satisfied  with  one  another, 
and  so  inoffensive  to  the  other  part  of  the  Universitv^ 
All  the  Fellows  I  have  yet  seen  are  both  well-natured 
and  well-bred ;  men  admirably  disposed  as  well  to  pre- 
serve peace  and  good  neighbourhood  among  them- 
selves   as  to  preserve  it  wherever  else  they  have  any 

acquaintance.     I  am,  etc., 

John  Wesley. 


224  HETTY   WESLEY 

The  next,  addressed  also  to  Sam,  shows  him  making 
provision  for  Charles's  entrance  at  Christ  Church  : 

My  mother's  reason  for  my  cutting  off  my  hair  is  be- 
cause she  fancies  it  prejudices  my  health.  As  to  my 
looks,  it  would  doubtless  mend  my  complexion  to  have 
it  off,  by  letting  me  get  a  little  more  colour,  and  per- 
haps it  might  contribute  to  my  making  a  more  genteel 
appearance.  But  these,  till  ill  health  is  added  to  them, 
I  cannot  persuade  myself  to  be  sufficient  grounds  for 
losing  two  or  three  pounds  a  year.^  I  am  ill  enough 
able  to  spare  them. 

Mr.  Sherman  says  there  are  garrets,  somewhere  in 
Peckwater,^  to  be  let  for  fifty  shillings  a  year ;  that  there 
are  some  honest  fellows  in  college  who  would  be  willing 
to  chum  in  one  of  them ;  and  that,  could  my  brother  but 
find  one  of  these  garrets,  and  get  acquainted  with  one  of 
these  honest  fellows,  he  might  possibly  prevail  on  him 
to  join  in  taking  it ;  and  then  if  he  could  but  prevail 
upon  someone  else  to  give  him  ;£/  a  year  for  his  own 
room,  he  would  gain  almost  £,6  a  year  clear,  if  his  rent 
were  well  paid.  He  appealed  to  me  whether  the  pro- 
posal was  not  exceedingly  reasonable  .''  But  as  I  could 
not  give  him  such  an  answer  as  he  desired,  I  did  not 
choose  to  give  him  any  at  all. 

Leisure  and  I  have  taken  leave  of  one  another.  I 
propose  to  be  busy  as  long  as  I  live,  if  my  health  is  so 

^  On  a  wig. 

2  A  quadrangle  in  Christ  Church.  Mr.  Sherman  had  been  John's 
tutor  there. 


HETTY   WESLEY  225 

long  indulged  me.  In  health  and  sickness  I  hope  I 
shall  ever  continue,  with  the  same  sincerity,  your  loving 
brother,  John  Wesley. 

From  Samuel  Wesley  to  his  son  John 

April  ij,  1726. 

Dear  Son, — I  hope  Sander  will  be  with  you  on  Wednes- 
day morn,  with  the  horses,  books,  bags,  and  this.  I  got 
your  mother  to  write  the  inclosed  (for  you  see  I  can 
hardly  scrawl),  because  it  was  possible  it  might  come  to 
hand  on  Tuesday ;  but  my  head  was  so  full  of  cares  that 
I  forgot  on  Saturday  last  to  put  it  into  the  post-house. 
I  shall  be  very  glad  to  see  you,  though  but  for  a  day, 
but  much  more  for  a  quarter  of  a  year.  I  think  you  will 
make  what  haste  you  can.  I  design  to  be  at  the  Crown, 
in  Bawtry,  on  Saturday  night.  God  bless  and  send  you 
a  prosperous  journey  to  your  affectionate  father, 

Samuel  Wesley. 

The  day  after  receiving  this  John  and  Charles  set  out 
and  rode  down  to  Lincolnshire  together. 


XIV 

FOR  if  ye  forgive  men  their  trespasses,  your 
heavenly  Father  will  also  forgive  you :  but  if 
ye  forgive  not  men  their  trespasses,  neither  will  your 
Father  forgive  your  trespasses." 

John  Wesley  laid  his  Bible  down  beside  him  on  the 
rustic  seat  under  the  filbert  tree,  and  leaned  back  against 
the  trunk  with  half -closed  eyes.  By-and-by  he  frowned, 
and  the  frown,  instead  of  passing,  grew  deeper.  His 
sermons,  as  a  rule,  arranged  themselves  neatly  and 
rapidly,  when  once  the  text  was  chosen,  but  to-day  his 
thoughts  ran  by  fits  and  starts,  and  confusedly  —  a 
thing  he  abhorred. 

In  truth  they  kept  harking  back  to  the  text,  "  For  if 
ye  forgive  men  their  trespasses.  .  .  ."  He  had  chosen 
it  with  many  searchings  of  heart,  for  he  knew  that  if 
he  preached  this  sermon  it  would  exasperate  his  father. 
Had  he  any  right,  knowing  this,  to  preach  it  from  his 
father's  pulpit?  After  balancing  the  pro's  and  centra's, 
he  decided  that  this  was  a  scruple  which  his  Christian 
duty  outweighed.  He  was  not  used  to  look  back  upon 
a  decision  once  taken :  he  had  no  thought  now  of 
changing  his  mind,  but  the  prospect  of  a  breach  with 
his  father  unsettled  him. 

While  he  pondered,  stabbing  the  turf  with  his  heel, 

226 


HETTY   WESLEY  22/ 

Molly  came  limping  along  the  garden-path.  Her  face 
was  white  and  drawn.  She  had  been  writing  for  two 
hours  at  her  father's  dictation,  and  came  now  for  rest  to 
the  seat  which  she  and  Hetty  had  in  former  days  made 
their  favourite  resort. 

Seeing  it  occupied,  she  paused  in  the  outer  shade  of 
the  great  branches. 

"You  are  thinking  out  your  sermon.?"  she  asked, 
smiling. 

He  nodded.  "  You  seem  tired,"  he  remarked,  eying 
her ;  but  he  did  not  rise  or  pick  up  his  Bible  to  make 
room  for  her. 

"  A  little,"  she  confessed ;  "  and  my  ears  are  hot.  But 
Charles  very  good-naturedly  left  his  De  Oratore — on 
which  I  heard  him  say  he  was  engaged  —  to  relieve  me. 
Johnny  Whitelamb  had  to  finish  colouring  a  map." 

*' I  don't  think  Charles  needs  much  persuasion  just 
now  to  leave  his  studies." 

"  He  will  not  require  them  if  he  is  to  be  an  Irish 
squire." 

"  You  count  upon  his  choosing  that } "  John's  frown 
grew  deeper. 

"  Not  if  you  dissuade  him.  Jack." 

"  I  have  not  even  discussed  it  with  him.  Once  or 
twice  on  our  way  down  he  seemed  to  be  feeling  his  way 
to  a  confidence  and  at  the  last  moment  to  fight  shy.  No 
doubt  he  knows  my  opinion  well  enough.  *  What  is  a 
man  profited  if  he  shall  gain  the  whole  world  and  lose 
his  own  soul } '  But  why  should  my  opinion  have  so 
much  weight  with  him  } " 


228  HETTY   WESLEY 

For  a  moment  Molly  considered  her  brother's  cold 
and  handsome  young  face.  She  put  out  a  hand,  plucked 
a  twig  from  a  low-drooping  bough,  and  peeling  the 
gummy  rind,  quoted  softly : 

" '  Why  do  you  cross  me  in  this  exigent  ? ' 
'  I  do  not  cross  you ;  but  I  will  do  so.' " 

"If  I  remember,"  mused  John,  "that  is  what  Shake- 
speare makes  Octavius  say  to  Mark  Antony  before 
Pharsalia." 

She  nodded.  "  Do  you  know  that  you  always  put  me 
in  mind  of  Octavius }  You  are  so  good-looking,  and  have 
the  same  bloodless  way  of  following  your  own  path  as 
if  you  carried  all  our  fates.  Sometimes  I  think  you  lio 
carry  them." 

"  I  thank  you."    He  made  her  a  mock  bow. 

"  And  I  still  think  it  was  kind  of  Charles  to  come  to 
my  rescue,  for  I  was  tired."  She  glanced  at  the  seat  and 
he  picked  up  his  book.  "  No ;  you  are  composing  a  ser- 
mon and  I  will  not  interrupt  you.  But  you  must  know 
that  father  expected  you  to  help  him  this  morning,  and 
was  put  out  at  hearing  that  you  had  walked  off." 

"  He  and  I  have  not  agreed  of  late,  and  are  likely  to 
agree  still  less  if  I  preach  this  sermon  —  as  I  shall." 

"  What  is  the  subject }  " 

"  I  have  not  thought  of  a  title  yet ;  but  you  may  call 
it  '  Universal  Charity,'  or  (better  perhaps)  *  The  charity 
due  to  wicked  persons.'  " 

"  You  mean  Hetty } "  She  limped  close  to  him.  "  Hetty 
may  have  done  wickedly,  but  she  is  not  a  wicked  person, 


HETTY   WESLEY  229 

as  you  might  have  discovered  had  you  let  Universal 
Charity  alone  and  practised  it  in  particular,  for  once,  by 
going  to  visit  her.  It  is  now  close  on  four  months  that 
you  and  Charles  have  been  home,  and  from  here  to  Lin- 
coln is  no  such  great  distance." 

"You  are  a  sturdy  champion,"  he  answered,  eying 
her  up  and  down.  "  As  a  matter  of  fact  you  are  right, 
though  you  assert  it  rashly.  How  are  you  sure  that  I 
have  not  visited  Hetty,  seeing  that  three  times  I  have 
been  absent  from  home  and  for  some  days  together .''  " 

Molly  winced.  "  The  worst  reproach  to  all  of  us,  that 
her  only  champion  was  the  weakling  whom  you  all  scorn  ! 
You  do  not  understand  weakness.  Jack.  As  for  my 
knowing  that  you  had  not  visited  her,  Johnny  Whitelamb 
took  his  holiday  a  fortnight  ago  and  trudged  to  Lincoln 
to  see  her.  She  is  living  behind  a  dingy  little  shop  with 
her  husband,  and  his  horrible  old  father,  who  drinks 
whatever  he  can  filch  from  the  till.  They  wink  at  it  so 
long  as  he  does  not  go  too  far ;  but  William  is  trying  to 
find  him  lodgings  at  Louth,  which  was  his  old  home,  and 
hopes  to  sell  up  the  business  and  move  to  London  with 
Hetty  to  try  his  fortune.  Uncle  Matthew  has  written  to 
her,  and  will  help  them  to  move,  I  believe.  And  there 
was  a  baby  coming,  but  mercifully  something  went  wrong, 
poor  mite !  All  this  news  she  sent  by  Johnny,  who  reports 
that  she  is  brave  and  cheerful  and  as  beautiful  as  ever  — 
more  beautiful  than  ever,  he  said  —  but  she  talked  long 
of  you  and  Charles,  and  is  said  to  have  seen  neither  of 
you." 

*'  So  Whitelamb  is  in  the  conspiracy  }     Since  you  have 


230  HETTY   WESLEY 

SO  much  of  his  confidence,  you  might  warn  him  to  be 
careful.  Doubts  of  our  father's  wisdom  must  unsettle  him 
woefully.  I  do  not  ask  to  join  the  alliance,  but  it  may 
please  you  to  know  that  in  my  belief  Hetty  has  been 
treated  too  fiercely  for  her  deserts,  and  in  my  sermon  I 
intend  to  hint  at  this  pretty  plainly." 

Molly  stared.  "  Dear  Jack,  it  —  it  is  good  to  have  you 
on  our  side.     But  what  good  can  a  sermon  do  .? " 

"  Not  much,  I  fear.     Still  a  testimony  is  a  testimony." 

"  But  the  folks  will  know  you  are  speaking  of  her." 

''I  mean  them  to." 

*'  But  —  but  —  "  Molly  cast  about,  bewildered. 

"  I  am  venturing  something,"  John  interrupted  coldly, 
**  by  testifying  against  my  father.  It  is  not  over-pleasant 
to  stand  up  and  admit  that  in  our  own  family  we  have 
sinned  against  Christ's  injunction  to  judge  not." 

"  I  should  think  not,  indeed  !  " 

"  Then  you  might  reasonably  show  a  little  more  pleas- 
ure at  finding  me  prepared,  to  that  extent,  to  take  your 
side." 

Molly  gasped;  his  misunderstanding  seemed  to  her 
too  colossal  to  be  coped  with.  "It  will  be  a  public  re- 
proach to  father,"  she  managed  to  say. 

"I  fear  he  may  consider  it  so;  and  that  is  just  my 
difficulty." 

"  But  what  good  can  it  do  to  Hetty  ? " 

"  I  was  not,  in  the  first  instance,  thinking  of  Hetty,  but 
rather  using  her  case  as  an  example  which  would  be  fresh 
in  the  minds  of  all  in  the  building.  Nevertheless,  since 
you  put  the  question,  I  will  answer  that  my  argument 


HETTY   WESLEY  23 1 

should  induce  our  mother  and  sisters,  as  well  as  the 
parish,  to  judge  her  more  leniently." 

"The  parish!"  murmured  Molly.  "I  was  not  think- 
ing of  its  judgment.     And  I  doubt  if  Hetty  does." 

"You  are  right.  The  particular  case  —  though  un- 
happily we  cannot  help  dwelling  on  it  —  is  merely  an 
illustration.  We,  who  have  duties  under  Christ  to  all 
souls  in  our  care,  must  neglect  no  means  of  showing 
them  the  light,  though  it  involve  mortifying  our  own 
private  feelings." 

Molly,  who  had  been  plucking  and  twisting  all  this 
while  the  twig  between  her  fingers,  suddenly  cast  it  on 
the  ground  and  hobbled  away. 

John  gazed  after  her,  picked  up  the  book  and  set  it 
down  again.     The  sermon  came  easily  now. 

Having  thought  it  out  and  arranged  the  headings  in 
his  mind,  he  returned  to  the  house  and  wrote  rapidly 
for  two  hours  in  his  bedroom.  He  then  collected  his 
manuscript,  folded  it  neatly,  scribbled  a  note,  and  called 
down  the  passage  to  the  servant,  Jane,  whom  he  heard 
bustling  about  the  parlour  and  laying  dinner.  To  her 
he  gave  the  note  and  the  sermon,  to  be  carried  to  his 
father ;  picked  up  a  crust  of  bread  from  the  table ;  and 
a  minute  later  he  left  the  house  for  a  long  walk. 

Returning  a  little  before  supper-time,  he  found  the 
manuscript  on  the  table  by  his  bedside.  No  note  ac- 
companied it ;  there  were  none  of  the  usual  pencil-marks 
and  comments  in  the  margin.  The  Rector  had  restored 
it  without  a  word. 


232  HETTY   WESLEY 

For  a  moment  he  was  minded  to  go  and  seek  an  in- 
terview ;  but  decided  that,  his  resolution  being  fixed,  an 
interview  would  but  increase  pain  to  no  purpose.  He 
washed  and  went  down  to  the  parlour,  walking  past  the 
door  of  the  study,  in  which  his  father  supped  alone. 

Next  morning  being  Saturday,  Mr.  Wesley  walked 
over  to  Epworth,  to  a  room  above  a  chandler's  shop, 
where  he  and  John  lodged  in  turn  as  they  took  Epworth 
duty  on  alternate  Sundays.  The  Rectory  there  was 
closed  for  the  time  and  untenanted,  the  Ellisons  having 
returned  some  months  before  to  their  own  enlarged  and 
newly  furnished  house.  There,  to  be  sure,  a  lodging 
might  have  been  had  at  no  cost,  and  Sukey  offered  it 
as  in  duty  bound.  She  knew  very  well,  however,  that 
neither  her  father  nor  John  could  stomach  being  a  guest 
of  Dick's.  The  invitation  was  decHned,  and  she  did  not 
press  it. 

So  on  Sunday,  August  28th,  Mr.  Wesley  took  the  ser- 
vices at  Epworth  while  John  stayed  at  home  and  preached 
his  sermon  in  Wroote  church. 

From  the  pulpit  he  looked  straight  down  into  the  tall 
Rectory  pew,  and  once  or  twice  his  eyes  involuntarily 
sought  its  occupants.  Once,  indeed,  he  paused  in  his 
discourse.  It  was  after  the  words  —  ''We  are  totally 
mistaken  if  we  persuade  ourselves  that  Christ  was 
lenient  towards  sin.  He  made  no  hesitation  in  driving 
the  money-changers  from  his  Father's  temple  even 
with  a  whip.  But  he  discriminated  between  the  sin 
and  the  sinner.  The  fig  tree  he  blasted  was  one  which, 
bearing  no  fruit,  yet  made  a  false  show  of  health  :  the 


HETTY   WESLEY  233 

Pharisees  he  denounced  were  men  who  covered  rotten- 
ness with  a  pretence  of  religion ;  the  sinners  he  con- 
sorted with  had  a  saving  knowledge  of  their  vileness. 
Sin  he  knew  to  be  human  and  bound  up  in  our  nature : 
all  was  pardonable  save  the  refusal  to  acknowledge  it 
and  repent,  which  is  the  sin  against  the  Holy  Ghost 
testifying  within  us.  If  we  confess  our  sins  not  only  is 
he  faithful  and  just  to  forgive  them,  but  he  promises 
more  joy  in  heaven  over  our  repentance  than  over 
ninety-and-nine  just  persons  which  need  no  repentance. 
And  why }  Because,  as  David  foretold,  a  broken  spirit 
is  God's  peculiar  sacrifice  :  '  a  broken  and  contrite  heart, 
O  God,  thou  wilt  not  despise.'  Yet  we  in  this  parish 
have  despised  it.  With  sorrow  I  admit  before  you  that 
in  the  household  to  which  you  should  reasonably  look 
for  example  and  guidance,  it  has  been  despised.  What 
then }     Are  we  wiser  than  Christ,  or  more  absolute  .?  " 

He  paused.  His  mother  sat  stiff  and  upright  with 
her  eyes  bent  on  the  ground.  Only  Charles  and  Molly 
looked  up  —  she  with  a  spot  of  red  on  either  cheek,  he 
with  his  bright  pugnacious  look,  his  nostrils  sHghtly 
distended  scenting  battle  with  delight.  Emilia  and 
Patty  were  frowning ;  Kezzy,  who  hated  all  family 
jars,  fidgeted  with  her  prayer-book. 

The  sermon  ended  and  the  benediction  pronounced, 
he  fetched  from  the  vestry  the  white  surplice  in  which 
he  had  read  the  prayers,  and  came  back  to  the  pew  in 
which  the  family  waited  as  usual  for  the  rest  of  the 
congregation  to  leave  the  church.  Mrs.  Wesley  took 
the  surplice,  as  she  invariably  took  her  husband's,  to 


234  HETTY   WESLEY 

carry  it  home  and  hang  it  in  the  wardrobe.  They 
walked  out.  A  fortnight  before,  his  sisters  had  begun 
to  discuss  his  sermon  and  rally  him  upon  it  as  soon  as 
they  found  themselves  in  the  porch.  To-day  they  were 
silent :  and  again  at  dinner,  though  John  and  his 
mother  made  an  effort  to  talk  of  trivial  matters,  the 
girls  scarcely  spoke.  Charles  only  seemed  in  good 
spirits  and  chattered  away  at  ease,  glancing  at  his 
brother  from  time  to  time  with  a  droll  twinkle  in  his 
eye. 

Early  next  morning  John  set  out  for  Epworth,  having 
promised  to  relieve  his  father  and  visit  the  sick  and  poor 
there  during  the  week.  At  Scawsit  Bridge  he  met  the 
Rector  returning.  The  two  shook  hands  and  stood  for 
a  minute  discussing  some  details  of  parish  work :  then 
each  continued  on  his  way.  Not  a  word  was  said  of 
the  sermon. 


XV 

JOHN  remained  at  Epworth  until  Thursday  evening. 
Dark  was  falling  when  he  set  out  to  tramp  back  to 
Wroote,  but  the  guns  of  a  few  late  partridge-shooters  yet 
echoed  across  the  common.  A  Httle  beyond  Scawsit 
Bridge  a  figure  came  over  the  fields  towards  him,  walking 
swiftly  in  the  twilight — a  woman.  He  drew  aside  to 
let  her  pass  ;  but  in  that  instant  she  stretched  out  both 
hands  to  him  and  he  recognized  her. 

"Hetty!" 

She  dropped  her  arms.  **  Are  you  not  going  to  kiss 
me,  Jack  .-*     Do  you,  too,  cast  me  off .''  " 

"God  forbid!"  he  said,  and  lifted  his  face;  for  she 
was  the  taller  by  two  inches.  With  a  sob  of  joy  she  put 
out  both  hands  again  and  drew  his  lips  to  hers,  a  palm 
pressed  on  either  cheek. 

"  But  what  are  you  doing  here  } "  he  asked. 

"  My  husband  has  business  at  Haxey.  We  came  from 
Lincoln  this  morning,  and  just  before  sunset  I  crept  over 
for  a  look  at  the  house,  hoping  for  a  glimpse  of  you  and 
Charles.  They  will  not  have  me  inside,  Jack :  father  will 
not  see  me,  and  has  forbidden  the  others.  But  I  saw 
Johnny  Whitelamb.  He  told  me  that  Charles  was  in- 
doors, at  work  transcribing  for  father,  and  not  easily 
fetched  out;   but  that  you  were  expected  home  from 

235 


236  HETTY   WESLEY 

Epworth  to-night.  So  I  came  to  meet  you.  Was  I 
running  ?  I  dare  say.  I  was  thirsty  to  see  your  face, 
dear,  and  hear  your  voice." 

**  We  have  all  dealt  hardly  with  you,  Hetty." 

"  Ah,  let  that  be  !  I  must  not  pity  myself,  you  under- 
stand ;  and  indeed  I  was  not  thinking  of  myself.  If  only 
I  could  be  invisible,  and  steal  into  the  house  at  times  and 
sit  me  down  in  a  corner  and  watch  their  faces  and  listen  ! 
That  would  be  enough,  brother :  I  don't  ask  to  join  in 
that  life  again  —  only  to  stand  ap::.rt  and  feed  my  eyes 
on  it." 

**  You  are  not  happy,  then  }  " 

"  Happy  ? "  She  mused  for  a  while.  "  My  man  is  kind 
to  me :  kinder  than  I  deserve.  If  God  gives  us  a  child  —  " 
She  broke  off,  lowered  her  eyes  and  stammered,  "  You 
heard  that  I  had  — that  one  was  born  !  Dead.  He  never 
breathed,  the  doctor  told  me.  I  ought  to  be  glad,  ioxhis 
sake  —  and  for  William's  —  but  I  cannot  be." 

"  It  was  God's  goodness.  Look  at  Sukey,  now ;  how 
much  of  her  time  her  children  take  up." 

She  drew  back  sharply  and  peered  at  him  through  the 
dusk. 

"  Now  that  time  is  restored  to  you,"  he  went  on,  **you 
have  nothing  to  do  but  to  serve  God  without  distraction, 
till  you  are  sanctified  in  body,  soul,  and  spirit." 

"Jacky,  dear,"  she  asked  hoarsely,  "have  they 
taught  you  at  Oxford  to  speak  like  that.-^" 

He  was  offended,  and  showed  it.  "  I  have  been  speak- 
ing up  for  you  ;  too  warmly  for  my  comfort.  Father  and 
mother,  and  indeed  all  but  Molly,  will  have  it  that  you 


HETTY   WESLEY  237 

talked  lightly  to  them  ;  that  your  penitence  was  feigned. 
I  would  not  believe  this,  but  that,  as  by  marriage  you 
redeemed  your  conduct,  so  now  you  must  be  striving  to 
redeem  your  soul.  If  you  deny  this,  I  have  been  in  error 
and  must  tell  them  so." 

For  a  while  she  stood  considering.  "  Brother,"  she 
said,  "  I  will  be  plain  with  you.  Since  this  marriage  was 
forced  upon  me,  I  have  tried  —  and,  please  God,  I  will 
go  on  trying  —  to  redeem  my  conduct.  But  of  my  soul 
I  scarcely  think  at  all." 

"  Hetty,  this  is  monstrous." 

"I  pray,"  she  went  on,  "for  help  to  be  good.  With 
tears  I  pray  for  it,  and  all  day  long  I  am  trying  to  be 
good  and  do  my  duty.  As  for  my  soul,  sometimes  I  wake 
and  see  the  need  to  be  anxious  for  it,  and  resolve  to 
think  of  it  anxiously :  but  when  the  morning  comes,  I 
have  no  time  —  the  day  is  too  full.  And  sometimes  I 
grow  rebellious  and  vow  that  it  is  no  affair  of  mine  :  let 
them  answer  for  it  who  took  it  in  charge  and  drove  me 
to  tread  this  path.  And  sometimes  I  tell  myself  that 
once  I  had  a  soul,  and  it  was  sinful ;  but  that  God  was 
merciful  and  destroyed  it,  with  its  record,  when  He  de- 
stroyed my  baby.  The  doctor  swore  to  me  that  it  never 
drew  a  separate  breath  ;  no,  not  one.  Tell  me.  Jack:  a 
child  that  has  never  breathed  can  know  neither  heaven 
nor  hell  —  questions  of  baptism  do  not  touch  it  —  it  goes 
out  of  darkness  into  darkness  and  is  annihilated.  Is  that 
not  so  ?  So  I  assure  myself,  and  sometimes  I  think  that 
by  the  same  stroke  God  wiped  out  the  immortal  part  of 
me  with  its  sins,  that  my  body  and  brain  go  on  living. 


238  HETTY   WESLEY 

but  that  the  soul  of  your  Hetty  will  never  come  up  for 
judgment,  for  it  has  ceased  to  be." 

"  Monstrous ! " 

"You  understand,"  she  went  on  wearily,  "that  this  is 
but  one  of  my  thoughts.  My  heart  denies  it  whenever  I 
long  to  creep  back  to  Wroote  and  listen  to  the  old  voices 
and  be  a  child  once  more.  But  I  am  showing  you 
what  is  the  truth  —  that  upon  one  plea  or  another  I 
put  my  soul  aside  and  excuse  myself  from  troubling 
about  it." 

"  Sadder  hearing  there  could  not  be.  You  have  an  im- 
perishable soul,  and  owe  it  a  care  which  should  come 
before  your  duty  even  to  your  husband." 

"  Ah,  Jack,  you  may  be  a  very  great  man  :  but  you  do 
not  understand  women  !  I  wonder  if  you  ever  will  ?  For 
now  you  do  not  even  begin  to  understand." 

He  would  have  answered  in  hot  anger,  but  a  noise  on 
the  path  prevented  him.  Four  sportsmen  came  wending 
homeward  in  the  dusk,  shouldering  their  guns  and  laugh- 
ing boisterously.  In  the  loudest  of  the  guffaws  he  recog- 
nized the  voice  of  Dick  Ellison. 

"  Hullo ! "  The  leader  pulled  himself  up  with  a  chuckle. 
"Here's  pretty  goings-on  —  the  little  parson  colloguing 
with  a  wench  !  Dick,  Dick,  aren't  you  ashamed  of  your 
relatives .'' " 

"Ashamed  of  them  long  ago,"  stuttered  Dick,  lurch- 
ing forward.  He  had  been  making  free  with  the  flask 
all  day.     "  Who  is  it  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Come,  my  lass  —  no  need  to  be  shy  with  me  !  Let's 
have  a  look  at  your  pretty  face."    The  fellow  plucked  at 


HETTY   WESLEY  239 

Hetty's  hood.  John  gripped  his  arm,  was  flung  off  with 
an  indecent  oath,  and  gripped  him  again. 

"  This  lady,  sir,  is  my  sister." 

"  Eh  ?  "  Dick  Ellison  peered  into  Hetty's  face.  "  So 
it  is,  by  Jove  !  How  d'ye  do,  Hetty  }  "  He  turned  to  his 
companion.  *'  Well,  you've  made  a  nice  mistake,"  he 
chuckled. 

The  man  guffawed  and  slouched  on.  In  two  strides 
John  was  after  him  and  had  gripped  him  once  more,  this 
time  by  the  collar. 

"  Not  so  fast,  my  friend  !  " 

"Here,  hands  off!  This  gun's  loaded.  What  the 
devil  d'you  want .''  " 

"  I  want  an  apology,"  said  John  calmly.  "  Or  rather, 
a  couple  of  apologies."  He  faced  the  quartette:  they 
could  scarcely  see  his  face,  but  his  voice  had  a  ring  in  it 
no  less  cheerful  than  firm.  "  So  far  as  I  can  make  out  in 
this  light,  gentlemen,  you  are  all  drunk.  You  have  made 
one  of  those  foolish  and  disgusting  mistakes  to  which 
men  in  liquor  are  liable :  but  I  should  suppose  you  can 
muster  up  sense  enough  between  you  to  see  that  this  man 
owes  an  apology." 

"What  if  I  refuse?" 

"  Why  then,  sir,  I  shall  give  myself  the  trouble  to 
walk  beside  you  until  your  sense  of  decency  is  happily 
restored.  If  that  should  not  happen  between  this  and 
your  own  door,  I  must  leave  you  for  the  night  and  call 
upon  you  to-morrow." 

"  This  is  no  tone  to  take  among  gentlemen." 

"  It  is  the  tone  you  obhge  me  to  take." 


240  HETTY   WESLEY 

"  Come  away,  Jack  !  "  Hetty  besought  him  in  a  whis- 
per :  but  she  knew  that  he  would  not. 

"  Surely,"  he  said,  "  after  so  gross  an  offence  you  will 
lose  no  more  time  in  begging  my  sister's  pardon  ? " 

"Look  you  now,  master  parson,"  growled  the  offender, 
"  you  are  thin  in  the  legs,  but  I  am  not  too  drunk  to 
shoot  snipe."  With  his  gun  he  menaced  John,  who  did 
not  flinch. 

But  here  Dick  Ellison  interposed.  "  Don't  be  a  fool, 
Congdon !  Put  up  your  gun  and  say  you're  sorry,  like 
a  gentleman.  Damme  "  —  Dick  in  his  cups  was  notori- 
ously quarrelsome  and  capricious  as  to  the  grounds  of 
quarrel  —  "she's  my  sister,  too,  for  that  matter.  And 
Jack's  my  brother :  and  begad,  he  has  the  right  of  it. 
He's  a  pragmatical  fellow,  but  as  plucky  as  ginger, 
and  I  love  him  for  it.  Fight  him,  you'll  have  to  fight 
me  —  understand  ?  So  up  and  say  you're  sorry,  like 
a  man." 

"  Oh,  if  you're  going  to  take  that  line,  I'm  willing 
enough."     Mr.  Congdon  shuffled  out  an  apology. 

"  That's  right,"  Dick  Ellison  announced.  "  Now  shake 
hands  on  it,  like  good  fellows.  Jack's  as  good  a  man  as 
any  of  us  for  all  his  long  coat." 

"  Excuse  me,"  John  interrupted  coldly,  "  I  have  no 
wish  to  shake  hands  with  any  of  you.  I  accept  for  my 
sister  Mr.  Congdon's  assurance  that  he  is  ashamed  of 
himself,  and  now  you  are  at  liberty  to  go  your  way." 

"  At  liberty  !  "  grumbled  one :  but,  to  Hetty's  sur- 
prise, they  went.  Jack  might  not  understand  women : 
he  could  master  men.     For  her  part  she  thought  he 


HETTY   WESLEY  241 

might  have  shaken  hands  and  parted  in  good-fellow- 
ship. She  listened  to  the  sportsmen's  unsteady  re- 
treat. At  a  Uttle  distance  they  broke  into  defiant 
laughter,  but  discomfiture  was  in  the  sound. 

"  Come,"   said  John.     She   took   his    arm    and   they 
walked  on  together  towards  Wroote. 

For  a  while  neither  spoke.     Hetty  was  thinking  of  a 
story  once  told  her  by  her  mother :  how  that  once  the 
Rector,  then  a  young  man,  had  been  sitting  in  Smith's 
Coffee  House  in  the  City  and  discussing  the  "  Athenian 
Gazette  "  with  his  fellow-contributors,  when  an  officer  of 
the  Guards,  in  a  box  at  the  far  end  of  the  room,  kept 
interrupting  them  with  the  foulest  swearing.     Mr.  Wes- 
ley called  to  the  waiter  to  bring  a  glass  of  water.     It 
was  brought.     ''Carry   this,"   he   said   aloud,   ''to   that 
gentleman  in  the  red  coat,  and  desire  him  to  rinse  his 
mouth  after  his  oaths."     The  officer  rose  up  in  a  fury, 
with  hand  on  sword,  but  the  gentlemen  in  his  box  pulled 
him  down.     "  Nay,  colonel,  you  gave  the  first  offence. 
You  know  it  is  an  affront  to  svv^ear  before  a  clergyman." 
The  officer  was   restrained.     Mr.  Wesley  resumed  his 
talk.     And  her  mother  went  on  to  tell  that,  years  after, 
when  the  Rector  was  in  London  attending  Convocation, 
a  gentleman  stopped   him  one  day  as   he  crossed    St. 
James's  Park.    "  Do  you  know  me,  Mr.  Wesley  ?  "    "  Sir, 
I  have  not  that  pleasure."     "  Will  you  know  me,  then, 
if  I  remind  you  that  once,  in  Smith's  Coffee  House,  you 
taught  me  a  lesson  .?     Since  that  time,  sir,  I  thank  God 
I  have  feared  an  oath  and  everything  that  is  offensive 
to  the  Divine  Majesty.     I  rejoiced,  just  now,  to  catch 


242 


HETTY   WESLEY 


sight  of  you,  and  could  not  refrain  from  expressing  my 
gratitude." 

And  John  inherited  this  gift  of  mastery.  He  could 
not  understand  women,  nor  could  she  ever  understand 
him  :  but  she  felt  that  the  arm  she  held  was  one  of  steel. 
To  what  end  she  and  her  sisters  and  her  mother  had 
been  sacrificed  she  could  not  yet  divine:  but  the  encounter 
by  the  bridge  had  reawakened  the  Wesley  pride  in  her, 
and  she  walked  acquiescent  in  a  fate  beyond  her  ken. 
She  knew,  too,  that  he  had  dismissed  the  squabble  from 
his  mind  and  was  thinking  of  her  confession  and  her 
soul's  danger.     But  here  she  would  not  help  him. 

"  You  have  heard,"  she  asked,  "  that  we  are  leaving 
Lincoln  .?  " 

This  was  news  to  him. 

"  Yes ;  my  husband  thinks  of  opening  a  business  in 
London :  but  first  he  must  sell  the  shop  and  effects  and 
pension  off  his  father  into  lodgings  at  Louth.  That  is 
the  old  man's  native  home,  and  he  wishes  to  end  his 
days  there.  He  is  loth  to  leave  the  business  ;  but  truly 
he  has  brought  it  low,  and  we  must  move  if  WiUiam  is 
to  make  his  fortune." 

"  Moving  to  London  will  be  a  risk,  and  a  heavy  ex- 
pense." 

"  Uncle  Matthew  is  helping  us,  and  it  is  settled  that 
we  move  in  the  autumn.  We  go  into  lodgings  at  first, 
and  shall  live  in  the  humblest  way  while  we  look  about 
us  for  a  good  workshop  and  premises." 

"  Do  you  and  your  husband's  father  agree  .'*  " 

"  I  at  least  try  to  please  him.    You  would  not  call  him 


HETTY  WESLEY  243 

a  pleasant  old  man  :  and  of  course  he  charges  this  new- 
adventure  down  to  my  influence,  whereas  it  is  entirely 
William's  notion.  I  have  had  nothing  to  do  with  it 
beyond  enlisting  uncle  Matthew's  help." 

John  glanced  at  her  as  though  to  read  her  face  in 
the  darkness.  "  Was  that  also  William's  notion  ?  "  he 
asked. 

But  here  again  he  betrayed  his  ignorance.  True 
woman,  though  she  may  have  ceased  to  love  her  husband, 
or  may  never  have  loved  him,  will  cover  his  weakness. 
''  We  have  our  ambitions.  Jack,  although  to  you  they 
seem  petty  enough.  You  must  make  William's  acquaint- 
ance. He  has  a  great  opinion  of  you.  I  believe,  indeed, 
he  thinks  more  of  you  than  of  me.  And  if  he  wishes  to 
leave  Lincoln  for  London,  it  is  partly  for  my  sake,  that 
I  may  be  happier  in  a  great  city  where  my  fault  is  not 
known." 

"  If,  as  it  seems,  he  thinks  of  your  earthly  comfort  but 
neglects  your  soul's  health,  I  shall  not  easily  be  friends 
with  him." 

By  this  time  they  were  close  to  the  garden  gate. 

"Is  that  you.  Jack  .'*  "  Charles's  voice  hailed  over  the 
dark  hedge  of  privet. 

The  pair  came  to  a  halt.  Hetty's  eyes  were  fastened 
imploringly  on  her  brother.  He  did  not  see  them  :  if  he 
had,  it  would  have  made  no  difference.  He  pitied  her, 
but  in  his  belief  her  repentance  was  not  thorough :  he 
had  no  right  to  invite  her  past  the  gate. 

"  Good-by,"  he  whispered. 

She  understood.     With  a  sob  she  bent  her  face  and 


244 


HETTY   WESLEY 


kissed  him  and  was  gone  like  a  ghost  back   into  the 
darkness. 

Charles  met  him  at  the  gate.  "  Hullo,"  said  he,  "  surely 
I  heard  voices  ?     With  whom  were  you  talking  ?  " 

"With  Hetty." 

"  Hetty  ?  "  Charles  let  out  a  whistle.  "  But  it  is  about 
her  I  wanted  to  speak,  here,  before  you  go  indoors.  I  say 
—  where  is  she  ?     Cannot  we  call  her  back .''  " 

"  No :  we  have  no  right.  To  some  extent  I  have 
changed  my  mind  about  her :  or  rather,  she  has  forced 
me  to  change  it.     Her  soul  is  hardened." 

"By  whose  fault.?" 

"  No  matter  by  whose  fault :  she  must  learn  her  re- 
sponsibility to  God.  Father  has  been  talking  with  you, 
I  suppose." 

"  Yes :  he  is  bitterly  wroth — the  more  bitterly,  I  believe, 
because  he  loves  you  better  than  any  of  us.  He  says  you 
have  him  at  open  defiance.  *  Every  day,'  he  cried  out  on 
me,  'you  hear  how  he  contradicts  me,  and  takes  your  sis- 
ter's part  before  my  face.  And  now  comes  this  sermon  ! 
He  rebukes  me  in  the  face  of  my  parish.'  Mind  you,  I 
am  not  taking  his  part :  if  you  stand  firm,  so  will  I.  But 
I  wanted  to  tell  you  this,  that  you  may  know  how  to  meet 
him." 

For  a  while  the  brothers  paced  the  dark  walks  in 
silence.  Under  the  falling  dew  the  scent  of  honeysuckle 
lay  heavy  in  the  garden.  Years  later,  in  his  country 
rides,  a  whiff  from  the  hedgerow  would  arrest  Charles  as 
he  pondered  a  hymn  to  the  beat  of  his  horse's  hoofs,  and 
carry  him  back  to  this  hour.     John's  senses  were  less 


HETTY   WESLEY  245 

acute,  and  all-  his  thoughts  for  the  moment  turned 
inward. 

"  I  have  done  wrong,"  he  announced  at  length  and 
walked  hastily  towards  the  house. 

In  the  hall  he  met  his  father  coming  out. 

"Sir,"  he  said,  ''  I  have  behaved  undutifully.  I  have 
neglected  you  and  set  myself  to  contradict  you.  I  was 
seeking  you  to  beg  your  forgiveness." 

To  his  amazement  the  Rector  put  a  hand  on  either 
shoulder,  stooped  and  kissed  him. 

"  It  was  a  heavy  sorrow  to  me.  Jack.  Now  I  see  that 
you  are  good  at  bottom ;  and  to-morrow,  if  you  wish,  you 
shall  write  for  me.  Nay,  come  into  the  study  now,  and 
see  the  work  that  is  ready  for  you." 

In  the  light  of  the  study  lamp  John  saw  that  his 
father's  eyes  were  wet. 


XVI 

LATE  in  September,  having  been  chosen  to  preach 
on  St.  Michael's  Day  in  St.  Michael's  Church  the 
sermon  annually  delivered  by  a  Fellow  of  Lincoln, 
John  travelled  up  to  Oxford,  whither  Charles  followed 
him  a  week  or  two  later,  to  take  up  his  residence  in 
Christ  Church  and  be  matriculated  on  the  first  day  of 
the  October  term. 

John  had  deferred  his  journey  to  the  last  moment,  in 
order  to  stand  godfather  to  Nancy's  healthy  first-born. 
John  Lambert — honest  man  and  proud  father — had 
honoured  the  event  with  a  dinner,  and  very  nearly 
wrecked  his  own  domestic  peace  by  sending  out  the 
invitations  in  his  own  hand  and  including  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Wright.  For  weeks  after,  Nancy  shuddered  to 
think  what  might  have  happened  if  Hetty  and  her 
father  had  come  face  to  face  at  the  ceremony  or  the 
feast.  By  good  luck  —  or  rather  by  using  her  common 
sense  and  divining  the  mistake  —  Hetty  refused.  Her 
husband,  however,  insisted  on  attending,  and  she  let 
him  go  :  with  his  presence  the  Rector  could  not  de- 
cently quarrel. 

"  But  look  here,"  said  he,  "  I  am  getting  tired  of  the 
line  the  old  man  takes.  It  wasn't  in  our  bond:  he 
waited  to  spring  it  on  me  after  the  wedding.     If  I  can 

246 


HETTY   WESLEY  247 

overlook  things,  he  should  be  able  to,  and  I've  a  mind 
to  tell  him  so."  He  urged  her  to  come.  But  Hetty 
pleaded  that  she  could  not :  it  was  now  past  the  middle 
of  September,  and  her  baby  would  be  born  early  in  the 
new  year.  ''Well,  well,"  he  grumbled,  "but  'tis  hard 
to  have  married  a  lady,  and  a  beauty  to  boot,  and  never 
a  chance  to  show  her."  The  speech  was  gracious, 
after  his  fashion,  as  well  as  honest :  but  she  shivered 
inwardly.  For  as  time  wore  on,  she  perceived  this 
desire  growing  in  him,  to  take  her  abroad  and  display 
her  with  pride.  Failing  this,  he  had  once  or  twice 
brought  his  own  cronies  home,  to  sit  and  smoke  with 
him  while  he  watched  their  uneasy  admiration  and 
enjoyed  the  tribute.  She  blamed  herself  that  she  had 
not  been  more  genial  on  those  occasions ;  but  in  truth 
she  dreaded  them  horribly.  By  sheer  force  of  will  she 
had  managed  hitherto,  and  with  fair  success,  to  view 
her  husband  as  a  good  honest  man,  and  overlook  his 
defects  of  breeding.  In  her  happiest  moods  she  al- 
most believed  in  the  colours  with  which  (poor  soul,  how 
eagerly !)  she  decked  him.  But  she  could  not  extend 
the  illusion  to  his  friends.  ''  You  shall  show  him  off," 
she  pleaded,  meaning  the  unborn  babe.  "We  will 
show  him  off  together."     But  her  face  was  white. 

So  William  Wright  had  gone  alone  to  the  christen- 
ing feast,  and  there  John  Wesley  had  met  him  for  the 
first  time,  and  talked  with  him,  and  afterwards  walked 
home  full  of  thought.  For,  in  truth,  Hetty's  husband 
had  drunk  more  of  John  Lambert's  wine  than  agreed 
with   him,    and   had  asserted    himself    huskily,    if   not 


248  HETTY   WESLEY 

aggressively,  under  the  cold  eye  of  Mr.  Wesley  senior. 
John,  as  godfather,  had  been  called  upon  for  a  speech, 
and  his  brother-in-law's  ''  Hear,  hear "  had  been  so 
vociferous  that  while  his  kinsfolk  stole  glances  at  one 
another  as  who  should  say,  ''  But  what  can  one  ex- 
pect .'' "  the  Rector  put  out  a  hand  with  grim  mock 
apprehension  and  felt  the  leaded  window  casements. 
"I'll  mend  all  I  break,  and  for  nothing,"  shouted 
Mr.  Wright  heartily  :  and  amid  a  scandalized  silence 
Charles  exploded  in  merry  laughter,  and  saved  the 
situation. 

For  a  fortnight  after  his  return  to  Oxford,  college  work 
absorbed  all  John's  leisure :  but  he  found  time  as  a 
matter  of  course  to  meet  Charles  on  his  arrival  at  the 
Angel  Inn,  and  took  him  straight  off  to  Christ  Church  to 
present  him  to  the  Senior  Censor.  Next  day  he  called 
to  find  his  brother  installed  in  Peckwater,  on  the  topmost 
floor,  but  in  rooms  very  much  more  cheerful  than  the 
garret  suggested  by  Mr.  Sherman.  Charles,  at  any  rate, 
was  delighted  with  them  and  his  sticks  of  furniture,  and 
elated — as  thousands  of  undergraduates  have  been  before 
his  day  and  since  —  at  exchanging  school  for  college  and 
qualified  liberty  and  the  dignity  of  housekeeping  on  one's 
own  account. 

*^ Est  aliqidd  quocunqice  loco,  quocimque  recessu,^  he 
quoted,  and  showed  John  with  triumph  the  window-seat 
which,  lifted,  disclosed  a  cupboard  to  contain  his  wine, 
if  ever  he  should  possess  any. 

"  Are  you  proposing  to  become  a  wine-bibber  in  your 
enthusiasm?"  asked  John. 


HETTY   WESLEY  249 

Charles  closed  the  lid,  seated  himself  upon  it,  drew  up 
his  legs,  and  gazed  out  across  the  quadrangle.  He  had 
made  a  friend  or  two  already  among  the  freshmen,  and 
this  life  seemed  to  him  very  good. 

*'  My  dear  Jack,  you  would  not  have  me  be  a  saint  all 
at  once ! " 

John  frowned.  *'  You  do  not  forget,  I  hope,  in  what 
hope  you  have  been  helped  to  Christ  Church .'' " 

Charles  sat  nursing  his  knees.  A  small  frown  puck- 
ered his  forehead,  but  scarcely  interfered  with  the  good- 
tempered  smile  about  his  mouth. 

''  Others  beside  my  father  have  helped  or  are  willing 
to  help.  See  that  letter.'"'  —  he  nodded  towards  one 
lying  open  on  the  table  —  "  It  is  from  Ireland.  It  has 
been  lying  in  the  porter's  lodge  for  a  week,  and  my  scout 
brought  it  up  this  morning." 

John  picked  it  up,  smiling  at  his  boyish  air  of  impor- 
tance.    "  Am  I  to  read  it .''  " 

Charles  nodded,  and  while  his  brother  read,  gazed  out 
of  window.  The  smile  still  played  about  his  mouth,  but 
queer  ly. 

"  It  is  a  handsome  offer,"  said  John  slowly,  and  laid 
the  letter  down.     *'  Have  you  taken  any  decision  ?  " 

"  Father  leaves  it  to  me,  as  you  know,"  Charles  an- 
swered and  paused,  musingly.  *'  I  suppose,  now,  ninety- 
nine  out  of  a  hundred  would  jump  at  it." 

''Assuredly." 

"  Somehow  our  family  seems  to  be  made  up  of  odd 
hundredths.  You,  for  example,  do  not  wish  me  to  ac- 
cept." 


250  HETTY   WESLEY 

*'  I  have  said  nothing  to  influence  your  choice." 

"  No,  my  dear  Jack,  you  have  not.  Yet  I  know  what 
you  think,  fast  enough." 

John  picked  up  the  letter  again  and  folded  it  carefully. 

"  An  estate  in  Ireland  ;  a  safe  seat  in  the  Irish  Parlia- 
ment ;  and  money.  Jack,  that  money  might  help  to 
make  many  happy.  Think  of  our  mother,  often  without 
enough  to  eat:  think  of  father's  debts.  He  knows  I 
would  pay  them." 

"And  yet  he  has  not  tried  to  influence  your  choice." 

"He's  a  Trojan,  Jack;  an  old  warhorse.  You  have 
cause  to  love  him,  for  he  loves  you  so  much  above  all  of 
us  —  and  you  know  it  —  that,  had  the  choice  been  offered 
you,  he'd  have  moved  heaven  and  earth  to  prevent  your 
accepting  a  fortune." 

He  swung  round,  dropping  his  feet  to  the  floor,  and 
eyed  his  brother  quizzically. 

"Upon  my  word,"  he  went  on,  "this  thing  annoys 
me.  I've  a  mind  to  — "  Here  he  dived  a  hand  into 
his  breeches  pocket  and  fished  out  a  shilling.  "We'll 
settle  it  here  and  now,  and  you  shall  be  witness.  Heads 
for  Dangan  Castle  and  Parliament  House ;  tails  for 
poverty ! " 

He  spun  the  coin  and  slapped  it  down  on  his  knee. 
His  hand  still  covered  it. 

"  Come,  Jack,  stand  up  and  be  properly  excited." 

"Nay,"  said  John;  "would  you  jest  with  God's  pur- 
pose for  you  ? " 

"  I  have  seen  you  open  the  Bible  at  random  and  take 
your  omen  from  the  first  words  your  eyes  light  on.     Yet 


HETTY   WESLEY  25  I 

I  never  accused  you  of  jesting  with  Holy  Writ.  Can- 
not God  as  easily  determine  the  fall  of  a  coin  ?  " 

He  withdrew  his  hand,  and  drew  a  deep  breath. 
"  Tails  !  "  he  announced,  and  faced  his  brother,  smiling. 

''  I  am  in  earnest,"  he  said.  "  But  if  you  prefer  the 
other  way  —  " 

He  stepped  to  the  shelf,  took  down  his  Bible  and 
opened  it,  not  looking  himself,  but  holding  the  page 
under  his  brother's  eyes. 

"  Well,  what  does  it  say  .''  "  he  asked. 

"  It  says,"  John  answered,  " '  Let  the  high  praises  of 
God  be  in  their  mouth,  and  a  two-edged  sword  in  their 
hand.'  " 

Charles  closed  the  Bible  and  restored  it  to  its  shelf ; 
then  faced  his  brother  again,  still  with  his  inscrutable 
smile. 


BOOK    IV 


"  T    NEVER    knew   you  were   such   a  needlewoman, 

J-  Hetty ;  it  has  been  nothing  but  stitch-stitch  for 
these  two  hours  —  and  the  same  yesterday,  and  the  day 
before.  See,  the  kettle's  boiling.  Lay  down  your 
sewing,  that's  a  dear  creature  ;  make  me  a  dish  of  tea, 
and  while  you're  doing  it,  let  me  see  your  eyes  and  hear 
your  voice." 

Hetty  dropped  her  hands  on  her  lap  and  let  them  rest 
there  for  a  moment,  while  she  looked  across  at  Charles 
with  a  smile. 

'*  As  for  talking,"  she  answered,  "it  seems  to  me  you 
have  been  doing  pretty  well  without  my  help." 

Charles  laughed.  "  Now  you  speak  of  it,  I  have  been 
rattling  on.  But  there  has  been  so  much  to  say  and  so 
little  time  to  say  it  in.  Has  it  occurred  to  you  that  we 
have  seen  more  of  each  other  in  these  seven  days  than 
in  all  our  lives  before  } " 

Seven  days  ago,  while  staying  with  his  brother  Sam 
at  Westminster,  he  had  heard  of  her  arrival  in  London 
and  had  tramped  through  the  slushy  streets  at  once  to 
seek  her  out  at  her  address  in  Crown  Court,  Dean  Street, 
Soho.     She  had  welcomed  him  in  this  dark  little  second- 

253 


254  HETTY   WESLEY 

floor  room  — dwelling-room  and  bedroom  combined  —  in 
which  she  was  sitting  alone  ;  for  her  husband  spent  most 
of  the  day  abroad  on  the  business  which  had  brought  them 
to  London,  either  superintending  the  alterations  in  the 
unfurnished  premises  he  had  hired  in  Frith  Street  for  his 
shop  and  the  lead-works  by  which  he  proposed  to  make 
his  fortune,  or  in  long  discussions  at  Johnson's  Court  with 
uncle  Matthew,  who  was  helping  with  money  and  advice. 

The  lodgings  in  Crown  Court  were  narrow  enough  and 
shut  in  by  high  walls.  But  Hetty  had  not  inhabited 
them  two  hours  before  they  looked  clean  and  comfort- 
able and  even  dainty.  Her  own  presence  lent  an  air  of 
distinction  to  the  meanest  room. 

Her  face,  her  voice,  her  regal  manners,  her  exquisitely 
tender  smile,  came  upon  Charles  with  the  shock  of  dis- 
covery. These  two  had  not  seen  one  another  for  years. 
The  date  of  this  first  call  was  December  22nd :  then 
and  there  —  with  a  shade  of  regret  that  in  a  few  days  he 
must  leave  London  to  pay  Wroote  a  visit  before  his  vaca- 
tion closed  —  Charles  resolved  that  she  should  not  spend 
her  Christmas  uncheered.  On  Christmas  Day  he  had 
carried  her  off  with  her  husband  to  dine  at  Westminster 
with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sam  Wesley.  Mr.  Wright  had  been 
on  his  best  behaviour,  Mrs.  Sam  unexpectedly  gracious, 
and  the  meeting  altogether  a  great  success.  Charles 
had  walked  home  with  the  guests,  and  had  called  again 
the  next  afternoon.  He  could  see  that  his  visits  gave 
Hetty  the  purest  delight,  and  now  that  they  must  end, 
he,  too,  realized  how  pleasant  they  had  been,  and  that 
he  was  going  to  miss  them  sorely. 


HETTY  WESLEY  255 

"  Only  seven  days  ?  "  he  went  on,  musing.  "  I  can 
hardly  believe  it ;  you  have  let  me  talk  at  such  length  — 
and  I  have  been  so  happy." 

Hetty  clapped  her  hands  together — an  old  girlish 
trick  of  hers.  "  It's  I  that  have  been  happy  !  And  not 
least  in  knowing  that  you  will  do  us  all  credit."  She 
knit  her  brows.  *'  You  are  different  from  all  the  rest  of 
us,  Charles ;  I  cannot  explain  how.  But,  sure,  there's  a 
Providence  in  it,  that  you,  who  are  meant  for  different 
fortunes  —  " 

"  How  different }  " 

"  Why,  you  will  take  our  kinsman's  offer,  of  course. 
You  will  move  in  a  society  far  above  us  —  go  into  Parlia- 
ment—  become  a  great  statesman  —  " 

"  My  dear  Hetty,  what  puts  that  into  your  head  ?  I 
have  refused." 

"  Refused ! "  She  set  down  the  kettle  and  gazed  at 
him.     '*  Is  this  John's  doing  .''  "  she  asked  slowly. 

"  Why  should  it  be  John's  doing }  "  He  was  nettled, 
and  showed  it.  *'  I  am  old  enough  to  make  a  choice  for 
myself." 

She  paid  no  heed  to  this  disclaimer.  "  They  are  per- 
fectly ruthless,"  she  went  on. 

*' Who  are  ruthless  .''  " 

"  Father  and  John,  They  would  compass  heaven  and 
earth  to  make  one  proselyte ;  and  the  strange  thing  to 
me  is  that  John  at  least  does  it  in  a  cold  mechanical 
way,  almost  as  if  his  own  mind  stood  outside  of  the  pro- 
cess. Father  is  set  on  his  inheriting  Wroote  and  Epworth 
cures,  John  on  saving  his  own  soul ;  let  them  come  to 


256  HETTY   WESLEY 

terms  or  fight  it  out  between  them.  But  how  can  it 
profit  Epworth  or  John's  soul  that  they  should  condemn 
you,  as  they  have  condemned  mother  and  all  of  us,  to 
hopeless  poverty  ?  What  end  have  they  in  view  ?  Or  have 
they  any  ?  For  what  service,  pray,  are  you  held  in  re- 
serve ? "  She  paused.  "  Somehow  I  think  they  will  not 
wholly  succeed,  even  though  they  have  done  this  thing 
between  them.  You  will  fall  on  your  feet ;  your  face  is 
one  the  world  will  make  friends  with.  You  may  serve 
their  purpose,  but  something  of  you  —  your  worldly  hap- 
piness, belike  —  will  slip  and  escape  from  the  mill-stones 
which  have  ground  the  rest  of  us  to  powder." 

She  picked  up  the  kettle  again  and  turned  her  back 

upon  him  while  she  filled  the  tea-pot  at  the  small  table. 

For  the  first  time  in  their  talks  she  had  spoken  bitterly. 

"  Nevertheless,  I  assure  you;  I  refused  of  my  own  free 

will." 

"  Is  there  such  a  thing  as  free  will  in  our  family .?  I 
never  detected  it.  As  babes  we  were  yoked  to  the  chariot 
to  drag  Jack's  soul  up  to  the  doors  of  salvation.  I  only 
rebelled,  and  —  Charles,  I  am  sorry,  but  not  all  penitent." 
He  ignored  these  last  words.  "You  are  quoting  from 
Molly,  I  think.     She  and  Jack  seldom  agree." 

''Because,  dear  soul,  she  reads  that  Jack  despises 
while  he  uses  her.  He  looks  upon  her  as  the  weak  one 
in  the  team  ;  he  doubts  she  may  break  down  on  the  road, 
and  she,  too,  looks  forward  to  it,  though  not  with  any 
fear." 

"  For  some  reason,  father  allows  her  to  talk  to  him  as 
no  one  else  does  —  not  even  mother.    Do  you  know  that 


HETTY   WESLEY  257 

one  day  last  summer  father  and  I  were  discussing  Jack 
and  the  chance  of  his  ever  settling  at  Epworth ;  for  this 
is  in  the  old  man's  thoughts  now,  almost  day  and  night. 
We  were  in  the  study  by  the  window,  and  Molly  at  the 
table  making  a  fair  copy  of  the  morning's  work  on  Job  ; 
we  did  not  think  she  heard  us.  All  of  a  sudden  she 
looked  up  and  quoted  '  Doth  the  hawk  fly  by  thy  wisdom 
and  stretch  her  wings  toward  the  south  ? '  I  supposed  she 
was  repeating  it  aloud  from  her  manuscript,  but  father 
knew  better  and  swung  round  upon  her.  '  Do  you  pre- 
sume, then,  to  know  whither  or  how  far  Jack  will  fly?' 
he  demanded.  She  turned  a  queer  look  upon  him,  not 
flinching  as  I  expected,  and  'I  shall  see  him,'  she 
answered,  using  Balaam's  words ;  '  I  shall  see  him,  but 
not  now:  I  shall  behold  him,  but  not  nigh.'  And  with 
that  she  dropped  her  head  and  went  on  quietly  with  her 
writing.  As  for  father,  if  you'll  believe  me,  it  simply 
dumfounded  him;  he  hadn't  a  word." 

"  And  I  will  tell  you  why.  Once  on  a  time  that  weak 
darling  stood  up  for  me  to  his  face.  She  would  not  tell 
me  what  happened.  But  I  believe  that  ever  since  father 
has  been  as  nearly  afraid  of  her  as  of  anyone  in  the  world. 
And  now  I  want  a  promise.  You  say  you  have  been  happy 
in  these  talks  of  ours ;  and  heaven  knows  I  have  been 
happier  than  for  many  a  long  day.  Well,  I  want  you 
to  tell  Molly  about  me  —  alone,  remember  —  for  of 
them  all  she  only  tried  to  help  me,  and  believes  in  me 
still." 

"Why,  of  course  I  shall." 

"■  And,"  Hetty  smiled,  "  they  have  no  poet  among  them 


258  HETTY   WESLEY 

now.  You  might  send  me  some  of  your  verses  for  a 
keepsake." 

Charles  grew  suddenly  red  in  the  face.  "  Why  —  who 
told  you.?"  he  stammered. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,"  she  laughed  merrily,  "  one  divines  it ! 
the  more  easily  for  having  known  the  temptation." 

He  had  set  down  his  tea-cup  and  was  standing  up  now, 
in  his  young  confusion  fingering  the  sewing  she  had 
laid  aside. 

*'  What  is  this  you  are  doing  }  "  he  asked,  with  his  eyes 
on  the  baby-linen ;  and  though  he  uttered  the  first 
question  that  came  into  his  head,  and  merely  to  cover 
his  blushes,  as  he  asked  it  the  truth  came  to  him,  and 
he  blushed  more  redly  than  ever. 

Hetty  blushed,  too.  She  saw  that  he  had  guessed  at 
length,  but  she  saw  him  also  clothed  in  a  shining  inno- 
cence. She  felt  suddenly  that,  though  she  might  love 
him  better,  there  were  privacies  she  could  not  discuss 
with  Charles  as  with  John.  And  for  a  moment  Charles 
seemed  to  her  the  more  distant  and  mysterious  of  the  two. 

What  she  answered  was  —  "  We  shall  be  following 
you  back  to  Lincolnshire  in  a  few  days.  I  am  to  stay  at 
Louth,  in  the  house  where  William  has  found  lodgings  for 
his  father —  who  was  born  at  Louth,  you  know,  and  has 
now  determined  to  end  his  days  there.  William  will  not 
be  with  me  at  first ;  he  has  to  wind  up  the  business  at 
Lincoln  and  looks  for  some  unpleasantness,  as  he  has 
made  himself  responsible  for  all  the  old  man's  debts.  I 
may  even  find  my  way  to  Wroote  before  facing  Louth." 

"  To  Wroote  ? " 


HETTY   WESLEY  259 

"  As  a  moth  to  the  old  cruel  flame,  dear.  They  will 
not  take  me  in,  but  I  know  where  to  find  a  bedroom. 
Women  have  curious  fancies  at  times  ;  and  I  feel  as  if  I 
may  die  very  likely,  and  I  want  to  see  their  faces  first." 

She  stepped  to  him  and  kissed  him  hurriedly,  hearing 
her  husband's  step  on  the  stairs.  "  Remember  to  speak 
with  Molly." 


II 

EXTRACTED  FROM  THE  WESLEY  CORRESPONDENCE 

1.  From  Charles  Wesley  at  Oxford  to  his  brother  John  at 

Stanton  in  Gloucestershire  ^ 

January  20th,  1727. 

POOR  sister  Hetty !  'twas  but  a  week  before  I  left 
London  that  I  knew  she  was  at  it.  Little  of  that 
time,  you  may  be  sure,  did  I  lose,  being  with  her  almost 
continually ;  I  could  almost  envy  myself  the  doat  of 
pleasure  I  had  crowded  within  that  small  space.  In  a 
little  neat  room  she  had  hired  did  the  good-natured, 
ingenuous,  contented  creature  watch,  and  I  talk,  over  a 
few  short  days  which  we  both  wished  had  been  longer. 
As  yet  she  lives  pretty  well,  having  but  herself  and  hon- 
est W.  W.  to  keep,  though  I  fancy  there's  another  a-com- 
ing.  Brother  Sam  and  sister  are  very  kind  to  her,  and  I 
hope  will  continue  so,  for  I  have  cautioned  her  never  to 
contradict  my  sister,  whom  she  knows.  I'd  like  to  have 
forgot  she  begs  you'd  write  to  her,  at  Mrs.  Wakeden's 
in  Crown  Court,  Dean  Street,  near  Soho  Square. 

2.  From  Mary  Wesley  {Molly)  to  her  brother  Charles  at 

Oxford  (same  date) 

You  were  very  much  mistaken  in  thinking  I  took  ill  your 
desiring  my  sister  Emily  to  knit  you  another  pair  of 

^  Where  John  was  staying  on  a  vacation  visit  with  his  friend  Robert 
Kirkham  of  Merton  College,  whose  father  held  the  cure  of  Stanton. 

260 


HETTY   WESLEY  261 

gloves.  What  I  meant  was  to  my  brother  Jack,  because 
he  gave  her  charge  to  look  to  my  well-doing  of  his:  but 
I  desire  you  no  more  to  mention  your  obligation  to  me 
for  the  gloves,  for  by  your  being  pleased  with  them  I 
am  fully  paid. 

Dear  brother,  I  beg  you  not  to  let  the  present  straits 
you  labour  under  to  narrow  your  mind,  or  render  you 
morose  or  churlish,  but  rather  resign  yourself  and  all 
your  affairs  to  Him  who  best  knows  what  is  fittest  for 
you,  and  will  never  fail  to  provide  for  whoever  sincerely 
trusts  in  Him.  I  think  I  may  say  I  have  lived  in  a  state 
of  affliction  ever  since  I  was  born,  being  the  ridicule  of 
mankind  and  reproach  of  my  family ;  and  I  dare  not 
think  God  deals  hardly  with  me,  and  though  He  has  set 
His  mark  upon  me,  I  still  hope  my  punishment  will  not 
be  greater  than  I  am  able  to  bear ;  nay,  since  God  is  no 
respecter  of  persons,  I  must  and  shall  be  happier  in  that 
life  than  if  I  had  enjoyed  all  the  advantages  of  this. 

My  unhappy  sister  was  at  Wroote  the  week  after  you 
left  us,  where  she  stayed  two  or  three  days,  and  returned 
again  to  Louth  without  seeing  my  father.  Here  I  must 
stop,  for  when  I  think  of  her  misfortunes,  I  may  say 
with  Edgar,  "O  fortune!  .  .  ." 

3.  From  Mary  Wesley  to  her  brother  John.     Sent  at  the 
same  date  ^  and  tmder  tJie  same  cover 

Though  I  have  not  the  good  fortune  to  be  one  of  your 
favourite  sisters,  yet  I  know  you  won't  grudge  the  postage 

^  January  20th  was  Mrs.  Wesley's  birthday,  and  her  children  kept  up 
the  pretty  observance  of  writing  to  one  another  on  the  anniversary. 


262  HETTY    WESLEY 

now  and  then,  which,  if  it  can't  be  afforded,  I  desire 
that  you  will  let  me  know,  that  I  may  trouble  you  no 
farther.  I  am  sensible  nothing  I  can  say  will  add  either 
to  your  pleasure  or  your  profit;  and  that  you  are  of  the 
same  mind  is  evidently  shown  by  not  writing  when  an  op- 
portunity offered.  But  why  should  I  wonder  at  any  in- 
difference shown  to  such  a  despicable  person  as  myself  ? 
I  should  be  glad  to  find  that  miracle  of  nature,  a  friend 
which  not  all  the  disadvantages  I  labour  under  would 
hinder  from  taking  the  pains  to  cultivate  and  improve  my 
mind ;  but  since  God  has  cut  me  off  from  the  pleasurable 
parts  of  life,  and  rendered  me  incapable  of  attracting  the 
love  of  my  relations,  I  must  use  my  utmost  endeavour  to 
secure  an  eternal  happiness,  and  He  who  is  no  respecter 
of  persons  will  require  no  more  than  He  has  given.  You 
may  now  think  that  I  am  uncharitable  in  blaming  my 
relations  for  want  of  affection,  and  I  should  readily  agree 
with  you  had  I  not  convincing  reasons  to  the  contrary ; 
one  of  which  is  that  I  have  always  been  the  jest  of  the 
family  —  and  it  is  not  I  alone  who  make  this  observa- 
tion, for  then  it  might  very  well  be  attributed  to  my 
suspicion  —  but  here  I  will  leave  it  and  tell  you  some 

news. 

Mary  Owran  was  married  to-day,  and  we  only  wanted 
your  company  to  make  us  completely  merry ;  for  who 
can  be  sad  where  you  are  ?  Please  get  Miss  Betsy  ^  to 
buy  me  some  silk  to  knit  you  another  pair  of  gloves, 
and  I  don't  doubt  you  will  doubly  like  the  colour  for  the 
buyer's  sake. 

1  Miss  Betty  Kirkham,  sister  of  Robert  Kirkham. 


HETTY   WESLEY  263 

My  sister  Hetty's  child  is  dead,  and  your  godson  grows 
a  lovely  boy,  and  will,  I  hope,  talk  to  you  when  he  sees 
you  :  which  I  should  be  glad  to  do  now. 

4.   From  Martha  Wesley  {Patty)  to  her  brother  John 

Feb.  jth,  1727. 

I  MUST  confess  you  had  a  better  opinion  of  me  than  I 
deserved :  for  jealousy  did  indeed  suggest  that  you  had 
very  small  kindness  for  me.  When  you  sent  the  parcel 
to  my  sister  Lambert,  and  wrote  to  her  and  sister  Emme, 
and  not  to  me,  I  was  much  worse  grieved  than  before. 
Though  I  cannot  possibly  be  so  vain  as  to  think  that 
I  do  for  my  own  personal  merits  deserve  more  love 
than  my  sisters,  yet  can  you  blame  me  if  I  sometimes 
wish  I  had  been  so  happy  as  to  have  the  first  place  in 
your  heart  "i 

Sister  Emme  is  gone  to  Lincoln  again,  of  which  I'm 
very  glad  for  her  own  sake ;  for  she  is  weak  and  our  mis- 
fortunes daily  impair  her  health.  Sister  Kezzy,  too,  will 
have  a  fair  chance  of  going.  I  believe  if  sister  Molly 
stays  long  at  home  it  will  be  because  she  can't  get  away. 
It  is  likely  in  a  few  years'  time  our  family  may  be 
lessened  —  perhaps  none  left  but  your  poor  sister  Mar- 
tha, for  whose  welfare  few  are  concerned. 

My  father  has  been  at  Louth  to  see  sister  Wright,  who 
by  good  providence  was  brought  to  bed  two  days  before 
he  got  thither ;  which  perhaps  might  prevent  his  saying 
what  he  otherwise  might  have  said  to  her  ;  for  none  that 
deserves  the  name  of  man  would  say  anything  to  grieve 
a  woman  in  a  condition  where  grief  is  often  present  death 


264  HETTY   WESLEY 

to  them.     I  fancy  you  have  heard  before  now  that  her 
child  is  dead. 

Of  these  letters  but  a  faint  echo  reached  Hetty  as 
she  lay  in  her  bed  at  Louth  —  a  few  words  transcribed  by 
Charles  from  the  one  (No.  3)  received  by  him,  and  sent 
with  his  affectionate  inquiries.  He  added  that  Molly 
had  also  written  to  Jack,  but  to  what  effect  he  knew  not ; 
only  that  Jack,  after  reading  it  in  his  presence,  had 
"pish'd"  and  pocketed  it  in  a  huff. 

She  lay  in  a  darkened  room,  with  her  own  hopes  at 
their  darkest  —  or  rather,  their  blankest.  She  had  jour- 
neyed to  Wroote  and  from  her  humble  lodging  there  had 
written  an  honest  letter  to  her  father,  begging  only  to 
see  her  mother  or  Molly,  promising  to  hold  no  commu- 
nication with  them  if  he  refused.  He  had  refused,  in  a 
curt  note  of  three  lines.  From  Wroote  she  returned  to 
Louth,  to  face  her  trouble  alone :  for  the  preliminaries 
of  selHng  the  Lincoln  business  had  brought  old  Wright's 
creditors  about  her  husband's  ears  like  a  swarm  of  wasps. 
Until  then  they  had  waited  with  fair  patience :  but  no 
sooner  did  he  make  a  perfectly  honest  move  towards 
paying  them  off  in  a  lunp  than  the  whole  swarm  took 
panic  and  he  was  forced  to  decamp  to  London  to  escape 
the  sponging-house.  There  uncle  Matthew  came  to  the 
rescue,  satisfied  immediate  claims,  and  guaranteed  the 
rest.  But  meanwhile  Hetty's  child  —  a  boy,  as  she  had 
prayed  —  was  born,  and  died  on  the  third  day  after 
birth. 

She  hardly  dared  to  think  of  it  —  of  the  poor  mite  and 


HETTY   WESLEY  265 

the  hopes  she  had  built  on  him.  As  she  had  told  Charles, 
she  was  sorry,  but  not  penitent  —  at  least  not  wholly- 
penitent.  Once  she  had  been  wholly  penitent :  but  the 
tyrannous  compulsion  of  her  marriage  had  eased  or 
deadened  her  sense  of  responsibility.  Henceforth  she 
had  no  duty  but  to  make  the  best  of  it.  So  she  told 
herself,  and  had  conscientiously  striven  to  make  the  best 
of  it.  She  had  even  succeeded,  up  to  a  point ;  by  shutting 
herself  within  doors  and  busily,  incessantly,  spinning  a 
life  of  illusion.     She  was  a  penitent  —  a  woman  in  a  book 

—  redeeming  her  past  by  good  conduct.  The  worst  of  it 
was  that  her  husband  declined  to  help  the  cheat.  He  was 
proud  of  her,  honest  man  !  and  had  no  fancy  at  all  for  the 
role  assigned  to  him,  of  "  all  for  love,  and  the  world  well 
lost."  That  she  refused  to  be  shown  off  he  set  down  to 
sulkiness;  and  went  off  of  an  evening  to  taverns  and 
returned  fuddled.  She  studied,  above  all  things,  to  make 
home  bright  for  him,  and  ever  met  him  with  a  smile  :  and 
this  was  good  enough,  yet  not  (as  it  slowly  grew  clear  to 
her)  precisely  what  he  wanted.  So  she  had  been  driven 
to  build  fresh  hopes  on  the  unborn  babe.  He  would 
make  all  the  difference  :  would  win  his  father  back,  or  at 
worst  give  her  own  life  a  new  foundation  for  hope.  Her 
son  should  be  a  gentleman :  she  would  deny  herself  and 
toil  and  live  for  him. 

And  now  God  had  resumed  His  gift,  and  her  life  was 
blank  indeed.  She  might  have  another  —  and  another 
might  die.  She  had  never  supposed  that  this  one  could 
die,  and  its  death  gave  her  a  dreadful  feeling  of  insecurity 

—  as  if  no  child  of  hers  could  ever  be  reared.    What 


266  HETTY   WESLEY 

then  ?  The  prospect  of  pardon  by  continued  good  con- 
duct seemed  to  her  shadowy  indeed.  Something  more 
was  needed.  Yes,  penitence  was  needed  ;  real  penitence  : 
urgently  she  felt  the  need  of  it  and  yet  for  the  hf e  of  her 
could  not  desire  it  as  she  knew  it  ought  to  be  desired. 

She  turned  from  the  thought  and  let  her  mind  dwell 
on  the  sentence  or  two  quoted  by  Charles  from  Molly's 
letter.  They  were  peevish  sentences,  and  she  did  not 
doubt  that  the  letter  to  John  had  been  yet  more  peevish. 
Life  had  taught  her  what  some  never  learn,  that  folks 
are  not  to  be  divided  summarily  into  good  and  bad,  right 
and  wrong,  pleasant  and  unpleasant.  Men  and  women 
are  not  always  refined  or  ennobled  by  unmerited  suf- 
fering. They  are  soured  often,  sometimes  coarsened. 
Hetty  loved  Molly  far  better  than  she  loved  John  :  but  in 
a  flash  she  saw  that,  not  Molly  only,  but  all  her  sisters 
who  had  suffered  for  John's  advancement,  would  exact 
the  price  of  their  sacrifices  in  a  consuming  jealousy  to  be 
first  in  his  favour.  She  saw  it  so  clearly  that  she  pitied 
him  for  what  would  worry  him  incessantly  and  be  met 
by  him  with  a  patient  conscientiousness.  He  would 
never  understand  —  could  never  understand  —  on  what 
these  jealous  sisters  of  his  based  their  claims. 

She  saw  it  the  more  closely  because  she  had  no  care 
of  her  own  to  stand  first  with  him.  She  smiled  and 
stretched  out  an  arm  along  the  pillow  where  the  babe 
was  not.  Then  suddenly  she  buried  her  face  in  it  and 
wept,  and  being  weak,  passed  from  tears  into  sleep. 


Ill 

MOLLY'S  protest  against  the  tyranny  of  home 
had  long  since  passed  into  a  mere  withholding 
of  assent.  She  went  about  her  daily  task  more  dutifully 
than  ever.  She  had  always  been  the  household  drudge  : 
but  now  she  not  only  took  over  all  the  clerical  work 
upon  the  Dissertationes  in  Librmn  Jobi  (for  the  Rector's 
right  hand  was  shaken  by  palsy  and  the  drawings 
occupied  more  and  more  of  Johnny  Whitelamb's  time); 
she  devised  new  schemes  for  eking  out  the  family  in- 
come. She  bred  poultry.  With  Johnny's  help  —  he  was 
famous  with  the  spade  —  she  added  half  an  acre  to  the 
kitchen-garden  and  planted  it.  The  summer  of  1727 
proved  one  of  the  rainiest  within  men's  memory,  and 
floods  covered  the  face  of  the  country  almost  to  the 
parsonage  door.  "  I  hope,"  wrote  the  Rector  to  John 
on  June  6th,  "  I  may  be  able  to  serve  both  my  cures  this 
summer,  or  if  not,  die  pleasantly  in  my  last  dyke."  On 
June  2 1st  he  could  *'make  shift  to  get  from  Wroote  to 
Epworth  by  boat."  Five  days  later  he  was  twisted  with 
rheumatism  as  a  result  of  his  Sunday  journey  to  Epworth 
and  back,  "  being  lamed  with  having  my  breeches  too 
full  of  water,  partly  with  a  downpour  from  a  thunder- 
shower,  and  partly  from  the  wash  over  the  boat.  Yet  I 
thank  God  I  was  able  to  preach  here  in  the  afternoon. 

267 


268  HETTY    WESLEY 

I  wish  the  rain  had  not  reached  us  on  this  side  Lincoln, 
but  we  have  it  so  continual  that  we  have  scarce  one  bank 
left,  and  I  can't  possibly  have  one  quarter  of  oats  in  all 
the  levels  ;  but  thanks  be  to  God  the  field-barley  and  rye 
are  good.  We  can  neither  go  afoot  nor  horseback  to 
Epworth,  but  only  by  boat  as  far  as  Scawsit  Bridge  and 
then  walk  over  the  common,  though  I  hope  it  will  soon 
be  better." 

That  week  the  floods  subsided,  and  on  July  4th  he 
wrote  again  :  "  My  hide  is  tough,  and  I  think  no  carrion 
can  kill  me.  I  walked  sixteen  miles  yesterday  ;  and  this 
morning,  I  thank  God,  I  was  not  a  penny  worse.  The 
occasion  of  this  booted  walk  was  to  hire  a  room  for  my- 
self at  Epworth,  which  I  think  I  have  done.  You  will 
find  your  mother  much  altered.  I  believe  what  would 
kill  a  cat  has  almost  killed  her.  I  have  observed  of  late 
little  convulsions  in  her  very  frequently,  which  I  don't 
like." 

This  report  frightened  John,  who  wrote  back  urgently 
for  further  particulars.  Mrs.  Wesley  had  indeed  fallen 
into  a  low  state  of  health,  occasioned  partly  (as  Kezzy 
declared  in  a  letter)  by  "  want  of  clothes  or  convenient 
meat,"  partly  by  the  miasma  from  the  floods.  Ague 
was  the  commonest  of  maladies  in  the  Isle  of  Axholme, 
and  even  the  labourers  fortified  themselves  against  it 
with  opium. 

"  Dear  son  John,"  replied  the  Rector  sardonically, 
"we  received  last  post  your  compliments  of  condolence 
and  congratulation  to  your  mother  on  the  supposition  of 
her  near  approaching  demise,  to  which  your  sister  Patty 


HETTY   WESLEY  269 

will  by  no  means  subscribe ;  for  she  says  she  is  not  so 
good  a  philosopher  as  you  are,  and  that  she  can't  spare 
her  mother  yet,  if  it  please  God,  without  great  incon- 
veniency.  And  indeed,  though  she  has  now  and  then 
some  very  sick  fits,  yet  I  hope  the  sight  of  you  would 
revive  her.  However,  when  you  come  you  will  see  a 
new  face  of  things,  my  family  being  now  pretty  well 
colonized,  and  all  perfect  harmony  —  much  happier,  in 
no  small  straits,  than  perhaps  we  ever  were  in  our  great- 
est affluence." 

Molly,  while  she  helped  to  cook  the  miserable  meals 
which  could  not  tempt  her  mother's  appetite,  or  looked 
abroad  upon  the  desolate  floods,  saw  with  absolute  clear- 
ness that  this  apparent  peace  was  but  the  peace  of  ex- 
haustion. Yet  it  was  true  that  —  thanks  to  her  —  the 
pinch  of  poverty  had  relaxed.  The  larger  debts  were 
paid :  for  some  months  she  had  not  opened  the  door  to 
a  dunning  tradesman.  The  floods,  as  by  a  miracle,  had 
spared  her  crops  and  she  had  a  scheme  for  getting  her 
surplus  vegetables  conveyed  to  Epworth  market.  Al- 
ready she  had  opened  up  a  trade  in  fowls  with  a 
travelling  dealer.  "  Molly,"  wrote  her  father,  ''miracu- 
lously gets  money  even  in  Wroote,  and  has  given 
the  first  fruit  of  her  earning  to  her  mother,  lending  her 
money,  and  presenting  her  with  a  new  cloak  of  her 
own  buying  and  making,  for  which  God  will  bless 
her." 

Her  secret  dissent  did  not  escape  the  Rector's  eye,  so 
alert  for  every  sign  of  defiance  :  but  in  his  expanding 
sense  of  success  he  let  it  pass.      There  was  another, 


270  HETTY   WESLEY 

however,  who  divined  it  and  watched  it  anxiously  day 
after  dreary  day,  for  it  answered  a  trouble  in  his  own 
breast. 

Johnny  Whitelamb  was  now  almost  a  man  grown  :  but 
what  really  separated  him  from  the  Johnny  Whitelamb 
of  two  years  ago  was  no  increase  in  stature  or  in  know- 
ledge. That  which  grew  within  him,  and  still  grew, 
defying  all  efforts  to  kill  it,  was  —  a  doubt.  It  had  been 
born  in  him  —  no  bigger  then  than  a  grain  of  mustard- 
seed —  on  the  day  when  he  sought  Hetty  to  send  her  to 
the  house  where  William  Wright  waited  for  her  answer. 
Until  then  the  Rector  had  been  to  him  a  divine  man,  in 
wisdom  and  goodness  very  little  lower  than  the  angels. 
And  now  — 

He  fought  it  hard,  at  first  in  terror,  at  length  in  cold 
desperation.  But  still  the  doubt  grew.  And  the  worst 
was  that  Molly  guessed  his  secret.  He  feared  to  meet 
her  eye.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  and  she  were  bound 
in  some  monstrous  conspiracy.  He  spent  hours  in  wres- 
tling with  it.  At  times  he  would  rise  from  table  on  some 
stammered  excuse,  rush  off  to  the  fields  and  there,  in 
a  hidden  corner,  fall  on  his  knees  and  pray,  or  even  lie 
at  full  length,  his  face  hidden  in  the  grasses,  his  body 
writhing,  his  ungainly  legs  twisting  and  untwisting. 
And  still  the  doubt  grew. 

Everything  confirmed  it.  He  saw  the  suffering  by 
which  mother  and  daughters  were  yoked.  He  noted  the 
insufficient  food,  the  thin  clothing,  the  wan  cheeks,  the 
languid  tread.  He  no  longer  took  these  for  granted, 
but  looked  into  their  causes.     And  the  Rector's  blind- 


HETTY   WESLEY  2/1 

ness  to  them,  or  indifference,  became  a  terror  to  him  — 
a  thing  inhuman. 

He  began  to  think  him  mad.  Worse,  he  began  to 
hate  him  :  he,  Johnny  Whitelamb,  who  had  taken  every- 
thing at  his  hands  — food,  clothing,  knowledge,  even  his 
faith  in  God !  He  accused  himself  for  a  monster  of  in- 
gratitude, whose  sins  invited  the  sky  to  fall  and  blot  him 
out.  And  still  he  could  not  meet  Molly's  eyes:  still,  in 
spite  of  checks  and  set-backs,  the  doubt  grew. 

It  was  almost  at  its  worst  one  morning  in  late  August, 
when  the  Rector  invited  him  to  lay  by  his  drawings  and 
walk  beside  him  as  far  as  Froddingham,  where  he  had 
business  to  transact.  (It  was  to  pay  over  £$,  and  meet 
a  note  given  by  him  in  the  spring  to  keep  Charles  in 
pocket  money.)  Had  Johnny  been  in  a  more  charitable 
mood,  the  accent  in  which  the  old  man  proffered  the 
invitation  would  have  struck  him  as  pathetic.  For  the 
Rector  it  was  indeed  a  rare  confession  of  weakness. 
But  three  weeks  before  his  purblind  nag  Mettle  had 
stumbled,  flung  him,  trailed  him  a  few  yards  on  the 
ground  with  one  foot  in  the  stirrup,  and  come  to  a  stand- 
still with  one  hoof  planted  blunderingly  on  his  other 
foot.  It  had  been  a  narrow  escape,  had  caused  him  ex- 
cruciating pain,  and  he  limped  still.  To  walk,  even  with 
a  stick,  was  impossible.  But  the  money  must  be  paid  at 
Froddingham  and  he  would  trust  no  messenger.  So  he 
mounted  the  mare.  Bounce,  and  set  forth  at  a  foot-pace, 
with  Johnny  striding  alongside  and  noting  how  the 
white  palsied  hand  shook  on  the  rein.  Johnny  noted  it 
without  pity :  for  the  doubt  was  awake  and  clamorous. 


272  HETTY   WESLEY 

If  ever  he  hated  his  benefactor  he  hated  him  that 
morning. 

The  morning  was  gray,  with  a  blusterous  south-west 
wind  of  more  than  summer  strength  ;  and  the  floods  had 
subsided,  but  the  Trent,  barely  contained  within  its 
banks,  was  running  down  on  a  fierce  ebb-tide.  They 
reached  Althorpe,  and  while  waiting  for  the  horse-boat 
to  cross  to  Burringham,  Johnny  found  time  to  wonder  at 
the  force  of  two  or  three  gusts  which  broke  on  the  lapping 
water  and  drove  it  like  white  smoke  against  the  bows  of 
a  black  keel,  wind-bound  and  anchored  in  mid-channel 
about  fifty  yards  down-stream. 

It  turned  out  that  the  ferryman,  who  worked  the  horse- 
boat  with  his  eldest  son,  had  himself  walked  over  to 
Bottesford  earlier  in  the  morning  :  and  Johnny  felt  some 
uneasiness  at  finding  his  place  supplied  by  a  boy  scarcely 
fourteen.  Mr.  Wesley,  however,  seemed  in  no  apprehen- 
sion, but  coaxed  Bounce  to  embark  and  stood  with  her 
amidships,  holding  her  bridle,  as  the  boat  was  pushed  off. 
Johnny  took  his  seat,  fronting  the  elder  lad,  who  pulled 
the  stern  oar. 

They  started  in  a  lull  of  the  wind.  Johnny's  first 
thought  of  danger  had  never  been  definite,  and  he  had 
forgotten  it  —  was  busy  in  fact  with  the  doubt  —  when, 
halfway  across,  one  of  the  white  squalls  swooped  down 
on  them  and  the  youngster  in  the  bows,  instead  of  pull- 
ing for  dear  life,  dropped  his  oar  with  a  face  of  panic. 

Johnny  felt  the  jerk,  heard  the  Rector's  cry  of  warning, 
and  in  two  seconds  (he  never  knew  how)  had  leapt  over 
the  stern  oar,  across  the  thwarts,  past  the  kicking  and 


HETTY   WESLEY  273 

terrified  Bounce  —  with  whom  the  Rector  was  struggling 
as  she  threatened  to  leap  overboard,  and  reached  the 
bows  in  time  to  snatch  the  oar  as  it  slipped  over  the  side. 
But  it  had  snapped  both  the  thole-pins  short  off  in  their 
sockets  and  was  useless.  The  boat's  nose  fell  off  and 
they  were  swept  down  towards  the  anchored  hulk  below. 
Johnny  could  only  wait  for  the  crash,  and  he  waited: 
and  in  those  few  instants  —  the  doubt  being  still  upon 
him  —  bethought  him  that  likely  enough  the  Rector  could 
not  swim,  or  would  be  disabled  by  his  lameness.  And  .  .  . 
was  he  sorry  }  He  had  not  answered  this  question  when 
the  crash  came,  the  ferry-boat  striking  the  very  stem  of 
the  keel,  her  gunwale  giving  way  to  it  with  a  slow  grind- 
ing noise,  then  with  a  bursting  crack  as  the  splinters 
broke  inwards.  As  it  seemed  to  him,  there  were  two 
distinct  bumps,  and  between  them  the  boat  filled  slowly 
and  the  mare  slid  away  into  the  water.  He  heard  voices 
shouting  on  board  the  keel.  The  water  rose  to  his  knees 
and  he  sank  in  it,  almost  on  top  of  Mr.  Wesley.  At  once 
he  felt  the  whirl  of  the  current,  but  not  before  he  had 
gripped  the  Rector's  collar.  The  other  hand  he  flung 
up  blindly.  By  Providence  the  keel  was  freighted  with 
sea-coal  and  low  in  the  water,  and  as  the  pair  slid  past, 
Johnny's  fingers  found  and  gripped  the  bulwark-coam- 
ing. So  for  a  half  minute  he  hung  —  his  body  and  the 
Rector's  trailing  out  almost  on  the  surface  with  the  force 
of  the  water,  his  arm  almost  dislocated  by  the  strain  — 
until  a  couple  of  colliers  came  running  to  help  and  hauled 
them  on  board,  the  Rector  first.  They  had  gripped  the 
small  boy  as  the  boat  sank,  and  he  stood  in  the  bows 


274 


HETTY   WESLEY 


scared  and  dripping,  but  otherwise  nothing  the  worse. 
His  brother,  it  appeared,  could  swim  like  a  fish  and  was 
already  a  good  hundred  yards  down-stream,  not  fighting 
the  current,  but  edging  little  by  little  for  the  home  shore. 
And  astern  of  him  battled  the  mare. 

The  colliers  had  a  light  boat  on  deck,  but  with  it  even 
in  calm  water  they  could  have  done  little  to  help  the 
poor  creature,  and  on  such  a  stream  it  was  quite  useless. 
They  stood  watching  and  discussing  her  as  she  turned 
from  time  to  time,  either  as  the  tide  carried  her  or  in 
vain,  wild  efforts  to  stem  it:  the  latter,  probably,  for 
after  some  ten  minutes  (by  which  time  her  head  had 
diminished  to  a  black  speck  in  the  distance)  she  seemed 
to  learn  wisdom  from  the  example  of  the  swimmer  ahead, 
resisted  no  longer,  and  was  finally  cast  ashore  and  caught 
by  him  more  than  half  a  mile  below. 

Johnny,  seated  on  the  grimy  deck,  heard  the  colliers 
discussing  her  struggles,  but  took  no  concern  in  them. 
His  eyes  were  all  for  the  Rector,  who,  after  the  first  fit 
of  coughing,  lay  and  panted  against  his  knees,  with  gaze 
fastened  on  the  steel-gray  sky  above. 

He  had  saved  his  life.  But  had  he  really  desired  to  ? 
The  action  had  been  instinctive  merely  :  and  a  moment 
before  he  had  been  speculating  on  the  Rector's  death, 
assenting,  almost  hoping.  Had  he  translated  that  assent 
into  deed  —  had  he  been  given  time  to  obey  the  wicked 
whisper  in  his  heart— te  would  now  be  the  blackest 
criminal  under  heaven.  God  had  interposed  to  save  him 
from  this :  but  was  he  any  the  less  a  sinner  in  intent } 

How  had  he  come  to  harbour  the  thought .?     For  now 


HETTY  WESLEY  2/5 

again  it  was  to  him  unthinkable  as  of  old  —  yet  in  his 
madness  he  had  thought  it.  There  abode  the  memory, 
never  to  be  escaped.  He  looked  down  on  the  venerable 
face,  the  water-drops  yet  trickling  from  the  brow,  usu- 
ally tinted  with  exposure  to  sun  and  wind  but  now  pale 
as  old  ivory.  The  old  adoration,  the  old  devotion, 
surged  back  into  Johnny's  heart,  the  tide  rose  to  his 
eyes  and  overflowed.  "  My  master  !  "  he  groaned,  *'  my 
master !  "  and  a  tear  fell  upon  Mr.  Wesley's  hand. 

Whether  or  not  this  aroused  him,  the  old  man  sat  up 
at  once  and  looked  about  him.  He  showed  no  emotion 
at  all. 

**  Where  is  the  mare  .'' "  he  asked. 

One  of  the  keelmen  pointed  down-stream,  and  the 
little  party  stared  after  her  in  silence  until  she  staggered 
up  the  bank. 

"All  saved?"  asked  Mr.  Wesley  again.  "My 
friends,  before  you  put  me  ashore,  I  will  ask  you  to 
kneel  with  me  and  give  thanks  for  God's  mercy  to  me  a 
sinner."  The  men  stared  at  him  and  at  one  another, 
not  a  little  embarrassed.  But  seeing  the  Rector  and 
Johnny  already  on  their  knees  in  the  grime,  they  pulled 
off  their  caps  sheepishly  and  knelt :  and  after  a  moment 
the  frightened  youngster  in  the  bows  followed  suit. 

"Almighty  God,  who  aforetime  didst  uphold  thy 
great  apostle  in  shipwreck  and  bring  him  safe  to  land, 
and  hast  now  again  interposed  an  arm  to  succour  two  of 
this  company  and  me,  the  unworthiest  of  Paul's  succes- 
sors; though  our  merits  be  as  nothing  in  comparison 
with  his,  and  as  nothing  the  usefulness  whereto  Thou 


2^6  HETTY   WESLEY 

hast  preserved  us,  we  bless  Thee  that  Thy  mercy  is 
high  and  absolute,  respecting  not  persons ;  we  thank 
Thee  for  giving  back  the  imperfect  lives  Thou  mightest 
in  justice  have  brought  to  an  end  ;  and  we  entreat  Thee 
for  grace  so  to  improve  the  gift  as  through  it  to  receive 
more  fitly  the  greater  one  of  everlasting  life,  through 
Jesus  Christ,  our  soul's  Saviour.     Amen." 

He  knelt  for  a  minute,  praying  silently ;  then  arose, 
dusted  his  knees  and  professed  himself  ready  to  be 
rowed  ashore.  The  keelmen  slid  their  deck-boat  over- 
side, and  presently  all  embarked  and  were  tided  back  to 
shore,  the  boat  taking  ground  about  fifty  yards  above 
the  bend  where  Bounce  stood  shivering,  caked  in  mud 
to  her  withers. 

The  Rector  thanked  the  keelmen  in  few  words  while 
Johnny  ran  to  fetch  the  mare.  They  were  pulHng  back 
when  he  returned  with  her.  The  elder  lad  invited  Mr. 
Wesley  to  the  ferryman's  cottage,  to  sit  and  dry  his 
clothes  :  but  he  dechned. 

Johnny  helped  him  to  remount.  Scarcely  a  word 
passed  on  their  homeward  way  beyond  a  comment  or 
two  on  poor  Bounce,  who  had  strained  her  near  shoulder 
in  her  plunging  battle  for  life  and  was  all  but  exhausted. 
At  the  parsonage  door  they  parted,  still  in  silence,  and 
Johnny  led  the  mare  off  to  stable.  He  did  not  know 
if  Mr.  Wesley  had  observed  his  emotion,  and  his 
own  heart  was  too  full  of  love  and  remorse  for  any 
words. 

But  an  hour  later  word  came  to  him  by  Kezzy  that 
her  father  wished  to  speak  with  him  in  the  study.     He 


HETTY   WESLEY  277 

went  at  once,  wondering,  and  found  the  Rector  seated 
as  usual  before  his  manuscripts,  but  alone, 

"  My  lad,"  he  began  kindly,  "  you  saved  my  life 
to-day." 

Johnny  attempted  to  speak,  but  could  not. 

"  I  know  what  you  would  say.  We  owe  one  another 
something,  eh .''  But  this  is  a  debt  which  I  choose  to 
acknowledge  at  once.  None  the  less  I  wish  you  to 
understand  that  although  your  conduct  to-day  hastens 
my  proposal,  it  has  been  in  my  head  for  some  time. 
Whitelamb,  would  you  like  to  go  to  Oxford }  " 

Johnny  gasped.     "  Sir  —  sir  !  "  he  stammered. 

Mr.  Wesley  smiled.  '*  I  will  speak  to  Jack  :  I  think  it 
can  be  managed  if  he  will  take  you  for  his  pupil,  as  no 
doubt  he  will.  You  cannot  well  be  poorer  than  I  was 
on  the  day  when  I  entered  my  name  at  Exeter  College. 
There,  go  away  and  think  it  over.  There's  no  hurry, 
you  understand :  if  you  are  to  go,  I  must  first  of  all 
hammer  some  Greek  into  you  —  eh  ?     What  is  it .''  " 

For  Johnny  had  cast  himself  on  his  knees,  and  was 
sobbing  aloud. 

At  supper  Molly,  to  whom  her  mother  had  whispered 
the  news,  announced  it  to  her  sisters,  who  knew  only  of 
the  accident  and  Johnny's  hand  in  the  rescue. 

''  Yes,"  said  she,  ''  we  are  all  proud  of  him,  and  shall 
be  prouder  before  long,  when  he  goes  to  Oxford !  " 

"Why  to  Oxford  .? "  asked  Patty,  not  comprehending, 
and  sought  her  mother's  eyes  for  the  interpretation. 
Mrs.  Wesley  smiled. 


2^8  HETTY   WESLEY 

"  Why,  to  be  a  great  man,"  Molly  went  on  ;  ''perhaps 
in  time  as  great  as  Jack  or  Charles."  Johnny,  in  his 
usual  seat  by  the  chimney-corner,  detected  the  challenge 
in  her  tone,  but  did  not  look  up. 

"Is  it  true.?"  persisted  Patty.  He  stared  into  the 
fire,  blushing  furiously. 

"  It  is  true."  Mrs.  Wesley  rose,  and  stepping  to  him 
laid  a  hand  on  his  straggling  dark  hair.  "  What  is  more, 
he  has  deserved  it,  not  to-day  only  but  by  his  goodness 
over  many  years.  The  Lord  shall  be  his  illumination," 
she  said  gravely,  quoting  the  motto  of  the  University 
which  (amazing  thought!)  was  to  be  his  University. 
"  May  the  hght  of  His  countenance  rest  upon  you,  dear 
son." 

She  had  never  called  him  by  that  title  before.  He 
caught  her  hand  and  for  the  moment,  in  the  boldness  of 
a  great  love,  clasped  it  between  his  own.  Now  he  could 
look  across  at  Molly :  and  she  nodded  back  at  him,  her 
eyes  brimful  —  but  behind  her  tears  they  gave  him 
absolution  and  released  him  from  the  doubt. 


IV 

THIS  was  at  the  close  of  August,  1728,  and  the 
Rector's  letter  entreating  his  good  offices  for 
Johnny  Whitelamb  reached  John  Wesley  on  the  eve  of 
his  taking  Priest's  Orders,  for  which  he  was  then  pre- 
paring at  Oxford.  He  was  ordained  priest  on  Septem- 
ber 22nd,  and  a  week  later  had  news  from  William 
Wright  in  London  that  Hetty's  third  child  was  born  — 
and  was  dead. 

This  is  how  the  father  announced  his  loss : 

"  To  the  Rev'^  Mr.  John  Wesley,  Felloiv  in  Christ  Church 

College,  Ox  on  " 

John  smiled  at  the  superscription,  inaccurate  in  more 
ways  than  one. 

"Dear  Bro  :  This  comes  to  Let  you  know  that  my 
wife  is  brought  to  bed  and  is  in  a  hopefull  way  of  Doing 
well  but  the  Dear  child  Died  —  the  Third  day  after  it 
was  born  —  which  has  been  of  great  concerne  to  me  and 
my  wife  She  Joyns  With  me  In  Love  to  your  selfe  and 
Bro  :  Charles.     From  Your  Loveing  Bro  :  to  Comnd  — 

"  Wm.  Wright. 

*'  P.S.  I've  sen  you  Sum  Verses  that  my  wife  maid 
of  Dear  Lamb  Let  me  hear  from  one  or  both  of  you  as 
Soon  as  you  think  Convenient." 

And  these  are  Hetty's  verses  inclosed. 

279 


28o  HETTY   WESLEY 

"A  Mother s  Address  to  Her  Dying  Infant 

"  Tender  softness,  infant  mild, 
Perfect,  purest,  brightest  Child  ! 
Transient  lustre,  beauteous  clay, 
Smiling  wonder  of  a  day  ! 
Ere  the  last  convulsive  start 
Rend  thy  unresisting  heart. 
Ere  the  long-enduring  swoon 
Weigh  thy  precious  eyelids  down, 
Ah,  regard  a  mother's  moan  ! 
—  Anguish  deeper  than  thy  own. 

"  Fairest  eyes,  whose  dawning  light 
Late  with  rapture  blest  my  sight. 
Ere  your  orbs  extinguish^  be, 
Bend  their  trembling  beams  on  me  ! 

"  Drooping  sweetness,  verdant  flower 
Blooming,  withering  in  an  hour. 
Ere  thy  gentle  breast  sustain 
Latest,  fiercest,  mortal  pain. 
Hear  a  suppliant  !     Let  me  be 
Partner  in  thy  destiny  : 
That  whene'er  the  fatal  cloud 
Must  thy  radiant  temples  shroud ; 
When  deadly  damps,  impending  now. 
Shall  hover  round  thy  destin'd  brow, 
Diffusive  may  their  influence  be. 
And  with  the  blossom  blast  the  tree  ! " 

Mr.  Wright  inclosed  these  verses  complacently 
enough.  Poetry  in  his  eyes  was  an  elegant  accom- 
plishment vaguely  connected  with  scholarship  and 
gentility :  and  he  took  pride  in  possessing  a  wife  who, 


HETTY   WESLEY  28 1 

as  he  more  than  once  assured  his  cronies  in  the  parlour 
of  the  Turk's  Head  at  the  end  of  the  street,  could  sit 
down  and  write  it  by  the  yard. 

To  please  Hetty  he  read  them  through,  pronounced 
them  very  pretty,  and  folded  up  the  paper,  remarking, 
"  I'll  send  it  off  to  your  brother  John.  He  likes  this 
sort  of  thing,  and  when  he  learns  'twas  written  in  your 
weak  state  he'll  think  it  wonderful." 

Of  the  anguish  in  the  closing  lines  his  eye  detected, 
his  ear  heard,  nothing. 

Yet  it  was  an  anguish  which  daily  touched  despair  in 
Hetty's  heart.  God  had  laid  a  curse  on  her,  and  would 
not  be  placated  by  the  good  behaviour  on  which  she  had 
built  her  hopes.  She  had  borne  three  children,  and  not 
one  had  He  suffered  to  live  for  a  week.  No  matter  how 
many  she  might  bear,  the  same  fate  stood  ready  for  them. 
Nor  was  this  all.  She  saw  Him  smiting,  through  these 
innocent  babes,  at  her  husband's  love.  Little  by  little 
she  felt  it  relaxing  and  sinking  through  carelessness  into 
neglect :  and  the  whole  scheme  of  her  atonement  rested 
on  his  continuing  fondness.  She  had  never  loved  him, 
but  his  love  was,  if  not  infinitely  precious,  of  infinite 
moment  to  her.  She  needed  it  to  sustain  her  and  keep 
her  in  the  right  way.  She  omitted  no  small  attentions 
which  might  make  home  pleasant  to  him.  She  kept  the 
house  bright  (they  had  moved  into  Frith  Street  and  lived 
over  the  shop),  and  unweariedly  coaxed  his  appetite  with 
her  cookery,  in  which  —  and  especially  in  pastry-making 
—  she  had  a  born  gift.  The  fumes  of  the  lead-works  at 
the  back  often  took  her  own  appetite  away  and  depressed 


282  HETTY   WESLEY 

her  spirits,  but  she  never  failed  to  rouse  herself  and  wel- 
come him  with  a  smile.  Also  (but  this  was  to  please  her- 
self) sometimes  by  a  word  of  advice  in  the  matter  of 
toilet  or  of  clothes,  oftener  by  small  secret  attentions 
with  the  needle,  she  had  gradually  reformed  his  habits 
of  dress  until  now  he  might  pass  for  a  London  tradesman 
of  the  superior  class,  decently  attired,  well  shaven  and 
clean  in  his  person.  He  resigned  himself  to  these  im- 
provements with  much  good  nature  and  so  passed  through 
his  metamorphosis  almost  without  knowing  it.  She  prac- 
tised small  economies  too ;  and  he  owned  (though  he  set 
it  down  to  his  own  industry)  that  his  worldly  affairs  were 
more  prosperous  than  ever  they  had  been  before  his  mar- 
riage. But  the  fumes  of  the  lead-works  affected  his  appe- 
tite, too,  and  his  spirits  :  and  when  these  flag  a  man  has 
an  easy  and  specious  remedy  in  brandy-and-water.  By- 
and-by  it  became  a  habit  with  him,  when  his  men  ceased 
work,  to  stroll  down  to  the  Turk's  Head  for  a  "  stiff ener  " 
before  his  meal.  The  men  he  met  there  respected  him 
for  a  flourishing  tradesman  and  flattered  him.  He  adored 
his  wife  still.  In  his  eyes  no  woman  would  compare  with 
her.  But  there  was  no  denying  he  felt  more  at  home  in 
company  which  allowed  him  to  tell  or  listen  to  a  coarse 
story  and  stretch  his  legs  and  boast  at  his  ease. 

He  was  not  aware  of  any  slackening  in  affection. 
But  Hetty  noted  it  and  fought  against  it,  though  with  a 
sinking  heart.  She  had  counted  on  this  babe  to  draw 
him  back  —  if  not  to  her,  then  at  least  to  home.  When 
told  that  it  was  dead,  on  an  impulse  she  had  turned  her 
face  at  once  to  him  and  with  a  heartrending  look  appealed 


HETTY   WESLEY  283 

for  his  forgiveness.  He  did  not  understand.  Yet  he  be- 
haved well,  stroking  her  head  and  saying  what  he  could 
to  comfort  her. 

She  was  convinced  now  that  she  lay  under  God's  curse, 
and  by-and-by  her  weak  thoughts  connected  this  curse 
with  her  father's  displeasure.  If  she  could  move  her 
father  to  relent,  it  might  be  lifted  from  her.  And  so 
after  many  weeks  of  brooding  she  found  courage  to  write 
this  letter : 

From  Hetty  to  her  Father 

Honoured  Sir,  —  Although,  you  have  cast  me  off  and 
I  know  that  a  determination  once  taken  by  you  is  not 
easily  moved,  I  must  tell  you  that  some  word  of  your 
forgiving  is  not  only  necessary  to  me,  but  would  make 
happier  the  marriage  in  which,  as  you  compelled  it,  you 
must  still  (I  think)  feel  no  small  concern.  My  child,  on 
whose  frail  help  I  had  counted  to  make  our  life  more 
supportable  to  my  husband  and  myself,  is  dead.  Should 
God  give  and  take  away  another,  I  can  never  escape  the 
thought  that  my  father's  intercession  might  have  pre- 
vailed against  His  wrath,  which  I  shall  then,  alas !  take 
to  be  manifest. 

Forgive  me,  sir,  that  I  make  you  a  party  in  such  hap- 
piness (or  unhappiness)  as  the  world  generally  allows  to 
be,  under  God,  a  portion  for  two.  But  as  you  planted 
my  matrimonial  bliss,  so  you  cannot  run  away  from  my 
prayer  when  I  beseech  you  to  water  it  with  a  little  kind- 
ness. My  brothers  will  report  to  you  what  they  have 
seen  of  my  way  of  life  and  my  daily  struggle  to  redeem 


284  HETTY   WESLEY 

the  past.  But  I  have  come  to  a  point  where  I  feel  your 
forgiveness  to  be  necessary  to  me.  I  beseech  you,  then, 
not  to  withhold  it,  and  to  believe  me  your  obedient 
daughter,  Mehet.  Wright. 

The  A^tswer 

Daughter,  —  If  you  would  persuade  me  that  your  peni- 
tence is  more  than  feigned,  you  are  going  the  wrong  way 
to  work.  I  decline  to  be  made  a  party  to  your  matri- 
monial fortunes,  as  you  claim  in  what  appears  to  be  in- 
tended for  the  flower  of  your  letter  ;  and  in  your  next, 
if  you  would  please  me,  I  advise  you  to  display  less  wit 
and  more  evidence  of  honest  self-examination.  To  that 
—  which  is  the  beginning  of  repentance  —  you  do  not 
appear  to  have  attained.  Yet  it  would  teach  you  that 
your  troubles,  if  you  have  any,  flow  from  your  own  sin, 
and  that  for  any  inconveniences  you  may  find  in  mar- 
riage you  are  probably  as  much  to  blame  (at  the  very 
least)  as  your  honest  husband.  Your  brothers  speak 
well  of  him,  and  I  shall  always  think  myself  obliged  to 
him  for  his  civilities  to  you. 

But  what  are  your  troubles  }  You  do  not  name  them. 
What  hurt  has  matrimony  done  you  t  I  know  only  that 
it  has  given  you  a  good  name.  I  do  not  remember  that 
you  were  used  to  have  so  frightful  an  idea  of  it  as  you 
have  now.  Pray  be  more  explicit.  Restrain  your  wit 
if  you  wish  to  write  again,  and  I  will  answer  your  next 
if  I  like  it.     Your  father,  5  Wesley. 

On  receiving  this  Hetty  could  not  at  once  bethink  her 
of  having  given  any  cause  of  offence.     But  she  had  kept 


HETTY   WESLEY  285 

a  rough  copy  of  her  letter,  and  on  studying  it  was  fairly 
shocked  by  its  tone,  which  now  seemed  to  her  almost 
flippant. 

She  marvelled  at  her  maladroitness,  which  was  the 
more  singular  because  she  had  really  written  under 
strong  emotion.  She  did  not  even  now  guess  the  secret 
of  her  failure  ;  which  was,  that  she  had  written  entreat- 
ing forgiveness  of  one  whom  she  had  not  wholly  for- 
given.     Nevertheless  she  tried  again. 

Hetty  to  her  Father 

Honoured  Sir,  —  Though  I  was  glad,  on  any  terms, 
of  the  favour  of  a  line  from  you,  yet  I  was  concerned  at 
your  displeasure  on  account  of  the  unfortunate  para- 
graph which  you  are  pleased  to  say  was  meant  for  the 
flower  of  my  letter.  I  wish  it  had  not  gone,  since  I 
perceive  it  gave  you  some  uneasiness. 

But  since  what  I  said  occasioned  some  queries,  which 
I  should  be  glad  to  speak  freely  about,  I  earnestly  beg 
that  the  little  I  shall  say  may  not  be  offensive  to  you, 
since  I  promise  to  be  as  little  witty  as  possible,  though 
I  can't  help  saying  you  accuse  me  of  being  too  much  so  ; 
especially  these  late  years  past  I  have  been  pretty  free 
from  that  scandal. 

You  ask  me  what  hurt  matrimony  has  done  me,  and 
whether  I  had  always  so  frightful  an  idea  of  it  as  I  have 
now  ?  Home  questions,  indeed  !  and  I  once  more  beg  of 
you  not  to  be  offended  at  the  least  I  can  say  to  them,  if 
I  say  anything. 

I  had  not  always  such  notions  of  wedlock  as  now,  but 


286  HETTY   WESLEY 

thought  that  where  there  was  a  mutual  affection  and  de- 
sire of  pleasing,  something  near  an  equality  of  mind  and 
person,  either  earthly  or  heavenly  wisdom,  and  anything 
to  keep  love  warm  between  a  young  couple,  there  was  a 
possibility  of  happiness  in  a  married  state ;  but  when 
all,  or  most  of  these,  were  wanting,  I  ever  thought  peo- 
ple could  not  marry  without  sinning  against  God  and 
themselves. 

You  are  so  good  to  my  spouse  and  me  as  to  say  you 
shall  always  think  yourself  obliged  to  him  for  his  civili- 
ties to  me.  I  hope  he  will  always  continue  to  use  me 
better  than  I  deserve  in  one  respect. 

I  think  exactly  the  same  of  my  marriage  as  I  did  before 
it  happened ;  but  though  I  would  have  given  at  least  one 
of  my  eyes  for  the  liberty  of  throwing  myself  at  your 
feet  before  I  was  married  at  all,  yet,  since  it  is  past  and 
matrimonial  grievances  are  usually  irreparable,  I  hope 
you  will  condescend  to  be  so  far  of  my  opinion  as  to  own 
that,  since  upon  some  accounts  I  am  happier  than  I  de- 
serve, it  is  best  to  say  little  of  things  quite  past  remedy, 
and  endeavour,  as  I  really  do,  to  make  myself  more  and 
more  contented,  though  things  may  not  be  to  my  wish. 

Though  I  cannot  justify  my  late  indiscreet  letter,  yet 
I  am  not  more  than  human,  and  if  the  calamities  of  life 
sometimes  wring  a  complaint  from  me,  I  need  tell  no  one 
that  though  I  bear  I  must  feel  them.  And  if  you  can- 
not forgive  what  I  have  said,  I  sincerely  promise  never 
more  to  offend  by  saying  too  much  ;  which  (with  begging 
your  blessing)  is  all  from  your  most  obedient  daughter, 

Mehetabel  Wright. 


You  who  can  read  between  the  lines  of  these  letters 
will  have  remarked  a  new  accent  in  Hetty  —  a 
hard  and  bitter  accent.  She  will  suffer  her  punishment 
now  ;  but,  even  though  it  be  sent  of  God,  she  will  appeal 
against  it  as  too  heavy  for  her  sin. 

Learn  now  the  cause  of  it  and  condemn  her  if  you 
can. 

At  first  when  her  husband,  at  the  close  of  his  day's 
work,  sidled  off  to  the  Turk's  Head,  she  pretended  not 
to  remark  it.  Indeed  her  fears  were  long  in  awaking. 
In  all  her  life  she  had  never  tasted  brandy,  and  knew 
nothing  of  its  effects.  That  Dick  Ellison  fuddled  him- 
self upon  it  was  notorious,  and  on  her  last  visit  to 
Wroote  she  had  heard  scandalous  tales  of  John  Rom- 
ley,  who  had  come  to  haunt  the  taverns  in  and  about 
Epworth,  singing  songs  and  soaking  with  the  riff-raff 
of  the  neighbourhood  until  turned  out  at  midnight  to 
roll  homeward  to  his  lonely  lodgings.  She  connected 
drunkenness  with  uproarious  mirth,  boon  companionship, 
set  orgies.  Of  secret  unsocial  tippling  she  had  as  yet 
no  apprehension. 

Even  before  the  birth  of  his  second  child  the  tavern 
had  become  necessary  to  Mr.  Wright,  not  only  at  the 
close  of  work  but  in  the  morning,  between  jobs.     His 

287 


288  HETTY   WESLEY 

workmen  began  to  talk.  He  suspected  them  and  slid 
into  foolish,  cunning  tricks  to  outwit  them,  leaving  the 
shop  on  false  excuses,  setting  out  ostentatiously  in  the 
wrong  direction  and  doubling  back  on  the  Turk's  Head 
by  a  side  street.  They  knew  where  to  find  him,  how- 
ever, when  a  customer  dropped  in. 

"  Who  sent  you  here  ? "  he  demanded  furiously,  one 
day,  of  the  youngest  apprentice,  who  had  come  for  the 
second  time  that  week  to  fetch  him  out  of  the  King's 
Oak.  (He  had  enlarged  his  circle  of  taverns  by  this 
time,  and  it  included  one  half  of  Soho.) 

**  Please  you,  I  wasn't  sent  here  at  all,"  the  boy  stam- 
mered. "  I  tried  the  Turk's  Head  first  and  then  the 
Three  Tuns." 

**  And  what  should  make  you  suppose  I  was  at  either  .'' 
Look  here,  young  man,  the  workshop  from  Robinson 
down  "  —  Robinson  was  the  foreman  —  *'  is  poking  its 
nose  too  far  into  my  business.  If  this  goes  on,  one  of 
these  days  Robinson  will  get  his  dismissal  and  you  the 
strap." 

"  It  wasn't  Robinson  sent  me,  sir.  It  was  the  mis- 
tress." 

"  Eh  !  "  William  Wright  came  to  a  halt  on  the  pave- 
ment and  his  jaw  dropped. 

"  Her  uncle,  Mr.  Matthew,  has  called  and  wants  to 
see  you  on  particular  business." 

The  business,  as  it  turned  out,  was  merely  to  give 
him  quittance  of  a  loan.  The  sum  first  advanced  to 
them  by  Matthew  Wesley  had  proved  barely  sufficient. 
To  furnish  the  dwelling  rooms  in  Frith  Street  he  had 


HETTY   WESLEY  289 

lent  another  ;£io  and  taken  a  separate  bond  for  it,  and 
this  debt  Hetty  had  discharged  out  of  her  household 
economies,  secretly  planning  a  happy  little  surprise  for 
her  husband ;  and  now  in  the  hurry  of  innocent  delight 
she  betrayed  her  sadder  secret. 

She  had  as  yet  no  fear  of  him,  though  he  was  afraid 
of  her.  But  at  sight  of  him  as  he  entered,  all  the 
joy  went  out  of  her  announcement. 

He  listened  sulkily,  took  the  receipt,  and  muttered 
some  ungracious  thanks.  Old  Matthew  eyed  him 
queerly,  and,  catching  a  whiff  of  brandy,  pulled  out 
his  gold  watch.  The  action  may  have  been  involun- 
tary.    The  hour  was  half-past  ten  in  the  morning. 

"  Well,  well —  I  must  be  going.  Excuse  me,  nephew 
Wright ;  with  my  experience  I  ought  to  have  known 
better  than  to  withdraw  a  busy  man  from  his  work." 

He  glanced  at  Hetty,  with  a  look  which  as  good  as 
asked  leave  for  a  few  words  with  her  in  private.  But 
Mr.  Wright,  now  thoroughly  suspicious,  did  not  choose 
to  be  dismissed  in  this  fashion.  So  after  a  minute  or 
two  of  uneasy  talk  the  old  man  pulled  out  his  watch 
again,  excused  himself,  and  took  his  departure. 

''  Look  here,"  began  Mr.  Wright  when  he  and  Hetty 
were  left  alone  :  "  you  are  taking  too  much  on  yourself." 

He  had  never  spoken  to  her  quite  so  harshly. 

"  I  am  sorry,  William,"  she  answered,  keeping  her 
tears  well  under  control.  For  months  she  had  been 
planning  her  little  surprise,  and  its  failure  hurt  her 
cruelly.     "  I  had  no  thought  of  displeasing  you." 

*'0h,  I  dare  say  you  meant  it  for  the  best.     But    I 


290 


HETTY   WESLEY 


choose  to  be  master  in  my  own  house,  that's  all. 
Another  time,  if  you  have  more  money  than  you  know 
what  to  do  with,  just  come  and  consult  me.  I've  no 
notion  of  being  made  to  look  small  before  your  uncle, 
and  I  don't  stomach  it." 

He  turned  away  growling.  He  had  spoken  only  of 
the  repaid  loan,  but  they  both  knew  that  this  had  nothing 
to  do  with  his  ill  temper. 

At  the  door  he  faced  round  again.  "  What  were  you 
talking  about  when  I  came  in .?  "  he  asked  suspiciously. 

"  Uncle  was  congratulating  us.  He  is  delighted  to 
know  that  the  business  is  doing  so  well  and  complains 
that  he  seldoms  gets  sight  of  you  nowadays,  your  hands 
are  so  full." 

''  And  pray  what  the  devil  has  it  to  do  with  him,  how 
I  spend  my  time  ?  "  He  pulled  himself  up  on  the  oath, 
and  seeing  her  cheek  flush,  he  too  reddened,  but  went 
on,  if  anything,  more  violently.  "  You've  a  trick  in  your 
family  of  putting  your  fingers  into  other  folks'  pies :  you're 
known  for  it.  There's  that  Holy  Club  I  hear  about.  Your 
clever  brothers  can't  be  content,  any  more  than  your 
father,  to  let  honest  folks  alone,  but  are  for  setting  right 
the  whole  University  of  Oxford.  I  warn  you,  that  won't 
do  with  me.  '  Live  and  let  live  '  is  my  motto  :  let  me  alone 
and  I'll  let  you  alone.  You  Wesleys  think  mightily  of 
yourselves,  but  you're  neither  king  nor  Parlyment,  and 
that  I'll  have  you  learn." 

It  was  not  a  dignified  exit  and  he  knew  it :  by  brood- 
ing over  it  through  the  afternoon  his  temper  grew  more 
savage.     That  evening  he  spent  at  the  Turk's  Head  and 


HETTY   WESLEY  29 1 

slouched  home  at  midnight  divided  between  contrition 
and  bravado. 

Hetty  was  in  bed,  pretending  sleep.  Had  she  known 
it,  a  word  from  her  might  have  mended  matters.  Even 
had  he  found  her  in  tears  there  was  enough  good  nature 
in  the  man  to  have  made  him  relent. 

At  sight  of  her  beautiful  face  he  felt  half -inclined  to 
awake  her  and  have  the  quarrel  cleared  up.  But,  to 
begin  with,  he  was  not  wholly  certain  of  his  sobriety. 
And  she,  too,  distrusted  it.  He  had  wounded  her  family 
pride,  to  be  sure :  but  what  really  kept  her  silent  was 
the  dread  of  discovering  him  to  be  drunk  and  letting 
him  see  that  she  had  discovered  it. 

Yet  she  had  great  need  of  tears  :  for  on  more  than  one 
account  she  respected  her  husband,  even  liked  him,  and 
did  most  desperately  long  to  be  loved  by  him.  After  all, 
she  had  borne  him  children  :  and  since  they  had  died  he 
was  her  only  stay  in  the  world,  her  only  hope  of  redemp- 
tion. Years  after  there  was  found  among  her  papers  a 
tear-blotted  sheet  of  verses  dating  from  this  sorrowful 
time :  and  though  the  sorrow  opens  and  shows  ahead, 
as  in  a  flash,  the  contempt  towards  which  the  current 
is  sweeping  her,  you  see  her  travel  down  to  it  with 
hands  bravely  battling,  clutching  at  the  weak  roots  of 
love  and  hope  along  the  shore : 

"  O  thou  whom  sacred  rites  designed 
My  guide  and  husband  ever  kind, 
My  sovereign  master,  best  of  friends, 
On  whom  my  earthly  bliss  depends : 
If  e'er  thou  didst  in  Hetty  see 


292 


HETTY   WESLEY 

Aueht  fair  or  orood  or  dear  to  thee, 
If  gentle  speech  can  ever  move 
The  cold  remains  of  former  love, 
Turn  thou  at  last  —  my  bosom  ease, 
Or  tell  me  why  I  fail  to  please. 

"  Is  it  because  revolving  years. 
Heart-breaking  sighs,  and  fruitless  tears 
Have  quite  deprived  this  form  of  mine 
Of  all  that  once  thou  fancied' st  fine? 
Ah  no!  what  once  allured  thy  sight 
Is  still  in  its  meridian  height. 
Old  age  and  wrinkles  in  this  face 
As  yet  could  never  find  a  place  ; 
A  youthful  grace  informs  these  lines 
Where  still  the  purple  current  shines, 
Unless  by  thy  ungentle  art 
It  flies  to  aid  my  wretched  heart : 
Nor  does  this  slighted  bosom  show 
The  many  hours  it  spends  in  woe. 

"  Or  is  it  that,  oppressed  with  care, 
I  stun  with  loud  complaints  thine  ear, 
And  make  thy  home,  for  quiet  meant, 
The  seat  of  noise  and  discontent? 
Ah  no  !     Thine  absence  I  lament 
When  half  the  weary  night  is  spent. 
Yet  when  the  watch,  or  early  morn, 
Has  brought  me  hopes  of  thy  return, 
I  oft  have  wiped  these  watchful  eyes, 
Conceal'd  my  cares  and  curb'd  my  sighs 
In  spite  of  grief,  to  let  thee  see 
I  wore  an  endless  smile  for  thee. 

"  Had  I  not  practised  every  art, 
To  oblige,  divert,  and  cheer  thy  heart, 
To  make  me  pleasing  in  thine  eyes. 
And  turn  thy  house  to  paradise, 
I  had  not  ask'd  '  Why  dost  thou  shun 


HETTY   WESLEY  293 

These  faithful  arms,  and  eager  run 
To  some  obscure,  unclean  retreat, 
With  vile  companions  glad  to  meet, 
Who,  when  inspired  by  beer,  can  grin 
At  witless  oaths  and  jests  obscene. 
Till  the  most  learned  of  the  throng 
Begins  a  tale  of  ten  hours  long 
To  stretch  with  yawning  other  jaws, 
But  thine  in  rapture  of  applause  ?  ' 

"  Deprived  of  freedom,  health,  and  ease, 
And  rivall'd  by  such  things  as  these, 
Soft  as  I  am.  Til  make  thee  see 
I  will  not  brook  contempt  from  thee! 
I'll  give  all  thoughts  of  patience  o"er 
(A  gift  I  never  lost  before)  ; 
Indulge  at  once  my  rage  and  grief. 
Mourn  obstinate,  disdain  relief. 
Till  life,  on  terms  severe  as  these, 
Shall  ebbing  leave  my  heart  at  ease ; 
To  thee  thy  liberty  restore 
To  laugh  when  Hetty  is  no  more." 

One  morning  William  Wright  awoke  out  of  stertorous 
sleep  with  a  heavy  sense  of  something  amiss,  and  opened 
his  eyes  to  find  Hetty  standing  beside  the  bed  in  night- 
gown and  Hght  wrapper,  with  a  tray  and  pot  of  tea  which 
she  had  stolen  downstairs  to  prepare  for  him.  After  a 
second  or  two  he  remembered,  and  turned  his  face  to 
the  wall. 

"  No,"  said  she,  "you  had  better  sit  up  and  drink  this, 
and  we  can  talk  honestly.  See,  I  have  brought  a  cup  for 
myself,  too." 

She  drew  a  small  table  close  to  the  bed,  and  a  chair, 
poured  out  the  tea  and  seated  herself  —  all  with  the  least 
possible  fuss. 


294  HETTY   WESLEY 

"  I  suppose  you  know,"  she  began,  "  that  you  struck 
me  last  night? " 

His  hand  trembled  as  he  took  the  cup,  and  again  he 
turned  away  his  eyes. 

"  You  were  drunk,"  she  went  on.  "  You  called  me  by 
an  evil  name,  too  —  a  name  I  once  called  myself  :  but  a 
name  you  would  not  have  called  me  in  your  sober  senses. 
At  least,  I  think  not.  Tell  me  —  and  remember  that  you 
promised  always  to  answer  honestly  :  you  would  not  have 
called  me  so  in  your  sober  senses  ?  You  do  not  think  of 
me  so  ?" 

He  set  down  the  cup  and  stretched  out  a  hand. 

"  My  lass  "  —  the  words  seemed  to  choke  him. 

"  For  I  am  not  t/iat.  You  married  me  knowing  the 
worst ;  and  ever  since  I  have  been  a  true  wife  to  you. 
Well,  I  see  that  you  are  sorry.  And  you  struck  me,  on 
the  breast.  I  have  a  bruise  there ;  but,"  she  went  on  in 
a  level  lifeless  tone,  "  there  is  no  child  to  see  his  father's 
mark.  You  are  sorry  for  that,  too.  But  I  understand, 
of  course,  that  you  were  drunk.  Many  times  now  you 
have  come  home  drunk,  and  next  morning  I  pretended 
not  to  know  it.  I  must  not  pretend  now,  since  now  to 
be  clear  about  it  is  my  only  chance  of  comfort  and  your 
only  chance  of  self-respect." 

He  groaned. 

''  Lass,  I  could  cut  my  hand  off  for  it !  When  a  man 
gets  overtaken  —  " 

**  No,  no,"  her  voice  suddenly  grew  animated ;  "  for 
God's  sake,  WiUiam,  don't  cry  over  'it !  You  are  not  a 
David."    She  shivered,  as  a  trick  of  memory  brought  back 


HETTY   WESLEY  295 

to  her  the  night  in  the  harvest  field  when  she  had  broken 
out  in  wrath  against  her  least  admired  of  Biblical  heroes 
—  the  same  night  on  which  she  had  first  set  eyes  on  this 
man  whose  ring,  and  whose  bruise,  she  wore. 

"  Do  not  use  cheating  words,  either,"  she  went  on. 
"  You  were  not  overtaken  by  liquor ;  you  went  out  to 
meet  it,  as  you  have  gone  night  after  night.  Call  it  by 
the  straight  name.  Listen :  I  like  you  well  enough, 
William,  to  help  you,  if  I  can  —  indeed,  I  have  tried. 
But  there  seems  to  be  something  in  drink  which  puts 
aside  help  :  the  only  fighting  of  any  worth  must  come 
from  the  man  himself  —  is  it  not  so  ?  " 

"  I  have  fought,  lass." 

"  Drink  up  your  tea,  my  man,  and  fight  it  again.  Come 
home  to  me  earlier,  and  with  a  firmer  step,  and  each 
night  will  be  a  victory,  better  worth  than  all  the  cries 
and  sobbings  in  the  world." 

He  gazed  at  her  stupidly  as  she  put  out  a  hand  and 
laid  it  gently  on  his  wrist.     He  covered  his  eyes. 

'*  I  —  struck  —  you  !  "  he  muttered. 

She  winced.  Startled  by  the  sudden  withdrawal  of  her 
touch,  he  lowered  his  hand  and  looked  at  her.  Her  eyes, 
though  brimming,  met  his  steadily. 

''  Tears  are  for  women,"  she  said.  "  I  must  cry  a  little : 
but  see,  I  am  not  afraid." 

For  some  months  after  this  he  fought  the  drink; 
fought  it  steadily.  With  Christmas  came  a  relapse, 
through  which  she  nursed  him.  To  her  dismay  she 
found  the  fit,  during  the  few  days  that  it  lasted,  more 
violent  than  before,  and  thought  of  the  house  swept  and 


296  HETTY  WESLEY 

garnished  and  the  devil  returning  with  others  worse  than 
himself.  Her  consolation  was  that  at  his  worst  now  he 
seemed  to  turn  to  her,  and  depend  on  her  —  almost  to 
supplicate  —  for  help.  The  struggle  left  them  both  ex- 
hausted :  but  he  had  not  attempted  to  beat  her  this 
time.  She  tried  to  persuade  herself  that  this  meant 
amendment,  and  that  the  outbreaks  would  grow  rarer 
and  at  length  cease  altogether. 

Throughout  the  spring  and  summer  of  1731  his  health 
improved,  and  with  it  his  kindness  to  her.  Indeed,  she 
had  not  been  so  near  happiness  (or  so  she  told  herself) 
since  her  wedding  day.  Another  child  was  coming; 
Hope,  so  often  cut  down,  grew  again  in  her  heart.  And 
then  — 

One  forenoon  in  the  second  week  of  June — a  torrid, 
airless  day  —  he  came  home  reeling.  For  the  moment 
a  black  fear  fell  on  her  that  she  would  be  too  weak 
to  wrestle  with  this  attack;  but  she  braced  herself  to 
meet  it. 

The  next  day  her  uncle  called.  He  was  about  to 
start  on  a  long-planned  journey  to  Epworth,  taking  his 
man  with  him  ;  and  having  lately  parted  with  his  house- 
keeper, he  had  a  proposal  to  make,  that  Hetty  should 
sleep  at  Johnson's  Court  and  look  after  the  house  in  his 
absence. 

She  shook  her  head.  Luckily  her  husband  was  out, 
drinking  fiercely  at  some  tavern  as  she  very  well  knew ; 
but  anything  was  better  than  his  encountering  uncle 
Matthew  just  now. 

"  Why  not }  "  the  old  man  urged.     "  It   would  save 


HETTY   WESLEY  297 

my  hiring  a  caretaker,  and  tide  me  over  until  I  bring 
back  Patty  with  me,  as  I  hope  to  do.  Besides,  after 
travelling  in  those  wilds  I  shall  want  to  return  and  find 
the  house  cheerful :  and  I  know  I  can  depend  on  you 
for  that." 

''  And  I  promise  that  you  shall  have  it.  Send  me  but 
word  of  your  coming,  and  all  shall  be  ready  for  you  that 
you  require." 

"  But  you  will  not  take  up  your  abode  there  ? " 
She    shook    her    head    again,    still    smiling:  but   the 
smile  had  lost  connection  with  her  thoughts.     She  was 
listening  for  her  husband's  unsteady  step  and  praying 
God  to  detain  it. 

"But  why  not?"  uncle  Matthew  persisted.  ''It  is 
not  for  lack  of  good  will,  I  know.  Your  husband  can 
spare  you  for  a  few  days  :  or  for  that  matter  he  might 
come  with  you  and  leave  the  house  at  night  to  young 
Ritson."  This  was  Mr.  Wright's  apprentice,  the  same 
that  had  fetched  him  out  of  the  King's  Oak ;  an  exem- 
plary youth,  who  slept  as  a  rule  in  a  garret  at  the  top 
of  the  house. 

"Tom  Ritson  is  not  lodging  with  us  just  now:  we 
have  found  a  room  for  him  two  doors  away."  She  had, 
indeed,  packed  off  the  youth  at  the  first  sign  of  his 
master's  returning  madness :  but,  lest  uncle  Matthew 
should  guess  the  true  reason,  she  added,  "Women  in  my 
state  take  queer  fancies  —  likes  and  dislikes." 

The  old  man  eyed  her  for  a  while,  then  asked  abruptly, 
"  Is  your  husband  drinking  again  ?  " 

<'  How  —  what  makes  you  —  I  don't  understand,"  she 


298  HETTY   WESLEY 

stammered.  Do  what  she  might  she  could  not  prevent 
the  come-and-go  of  colour  in  her  face. 

''  Oh,  yes  you  do.  Tut,  tut,  my  dear  !  I've  known  it 
every  whit  as  long  as  you.  Look  here ;  would  you  like 
me  to  put  off  my  journey  for  a  few  days  ? " 

"  On  no  account.  There's  not  the  least  reason,  I 
assure  you,  uncle." 

He  seemed  content  with  this  and  talked  for  a  little 
while  of  the  journey  and  his  plans.  He  had  warned 
nobody  at  Epworth.  "  I  intend  it  for  a  surprise,"  he 
explained ;  "  to  learn  with  my  own  eyes  how  they  are 
faring."  Emilia  and  Kezzy  were  at  home  now  upon  a 
holiday :  for  some  months  they  had  been  earning  their 
livelihood  at  Lincoln  as  teachers  in  a  boarding-school 
kept  by  a  Mrs.  Taylor.  He  might  even  make  a  trip 
to  Scarborough,  to  drink  the  waters  there.  He  was 
gravely  kind,  and  promised  to  deliver  all  Hetty's  mes- 
sages to  her  sisters. 

"  Well,  well,"  he  said  as  he  rose  to  go,  "  so  you  won't 
come  to  me .'' " 

"  I  cannot." 

"  Nevertheless  I  shall  leave  word  that  the  house  is  to 
be  open  to  you  —  in  case  of  need."  He  looked  at  her 
meaningly,  kissed  her  on  the  forehead,  and  so  took  his 
leave. 

At  the  street  door  he  paused.  "  And  that  poor  soul 
is  childless,"  he  muttered.  "  She  that  should  have  been 
a  noble  mother  of  soldiers !  " 


VI 

From  Mrs.  Wesley  to  her  son  John 

Epworth, /?^/)/  I2^/^,  1731. 

MY  brother  Wesley  had  designed  to  have  surprised 
us,  and  had  travelled  under  a  feigned  name  from 
London  to  Gainsborough;  but  there,  sending  his  man 
for  guide  out  to  the  Isle  the  next  day,  the  man  told  one 
that  keeps  our  market  his  master's  name,  and  that  he 
was  going  to  see  his  brother,  which  was  the  minister  at 
Epworth.  The  man  he  informed  met  with  Molly  in  the 
market  about  an  hour  before  my  brother  got  thither. 
She,  full  of  news,  hastened  home  and  told  us  her  uncle 
Wesley  was  coming  to  see  us ;  but  we  could  hardly  be- 
lieve her.  'Twas  odd  to  observe  how  all  the  town  took 
the  alarm  and  were  upon  the  gaze,  as  if  some  great  prince 
had  been  about  to  make  his  entry.  He  rode  directly  to 
John  Dawson's^ :  but  we  had  soon  notice  of  his  arrival, 
and  sent  John  Brown  with  an  invitation  to  our  house. 
He  expressed  some  displeasure  at  his  servant  for  letting 
us  know  of  his  coming :  for  he  intended  to  have  sent  for 
Mr.  Wesley  to  dine  with  him  at  Dawson's  and  then  come 
to  visit  us  in  the  afternoon.  However,  he  soon  followed 
John  home,  where  we  were  all  ready  to  receive  him  with 
great  satisfaction. 

iThe  inn. 
299 


300 


HETTY   WESLEY 


His  behaviour  among  us  was  perfectly  civil  and  oblig- 
ing. He  spake  little  to  the  children  the  first  day,  being 
employed  (as  he  afterwards  told  them)  in  observing  their 
carriage  and  seeing  how  he  liked  them :  afterwards 
he  was  very  free,  and  expressed  great  kindness  to 
them  all. 

He  was  strangely  scandalized  at  the  poverty  of  our 
furniture,  and  much  more  at  the  meanness  of  the  chil- 
dren's habit.  He  always  talked  more  freely  with  your 
sisters  of  our  circumstances  than  with  me ;  and  told 
them  he  wondered  what  his  brother  had  done  with  his 
income,  for  'twas  visible  he  had  not  spent  it  in  furnish- 
ing his  house,  or  clothing  his  family. 

We  had  a  little  talk  together  sometimes,  but  it  was 
not  often  we  could  hold  a  private  conference,  and  he  was 
very  shy  of  speaking  anything  relating  to  the  children 
before  your  father,  or  indeed  of  any  other  matter.  I  in- 
formed him,  as  far  as  I  handsomely  could,  of  our  losses, 
etc.,  for  I  was  afraid  that  he  should  think  I  was  about  to 
beg  of  him  ;  but  the  girls,  I  believe,  told  him  everything 
they  could  think  on. 

He  was  particularly  pleased  with  Patty ;  and  one 
morning,  before  Mr.  Wesley  came  down,  he  asked  me  if 
I  was  willing  to  let  Patty  go  and  stay  a  year  or  two  with 
him  at  London  }  "  Sister,"  says  he,  "  I  have  endeavoured 
already  to  make  one  of  your  children  easy  while  she 
lives,  and  if  you  please  to  trust  Patty  w4th  me,  I  will 
endeavour  to  make  her  so  too."  Whatever  others  may 
think,  I  thought  this  a  generous  offer,  and  the  more 
so,  because  he  had  done  so  much  for  Sukey  and  Hetty. 


HETTY    WESLEY  3OI 

I  expressed  my  gratitude  as  well  as  I  could,  and  would 
have  had  him  speak  with  your  father,  but  he  would 
not  himself  —  he  left  that  to  me ;  nor  did  he  ever 
mention  it  to  Mr.  Wesley  till  the  evening  before  he 
left  us. 

He  always  behaved  himself  very  decently  at  family 
prayers,  and  in  your  father's  absence  said  grace  for  us 
before  and  after  meat.  Nor  did  he  ever  interrupt  our 
privacy,  but  went  into  his  own  chamber  when  we  went 
into  ours. 

He  staid  frdm  Thursday  to  the  Wednesday  after,  then 
he  left  us  to  go  to  Scarborough,  from  whence  he  returned 
the  Saturday  se'nnight,  intending  to  stay  with  us  a  few 
days ;  but  finding  your  sisters  gone  the  day  before  to 
Lincoln,  he  would  leave  us  on  Sunday  morning,  for  he 
said  he  might  see  the  girls  before  they  —  he  and  Patty — ■ 
set  forward  for  London.  He  overtook  them  at  Lincoln, 
and  had  Mrs.  Taylor,  Emily,  Kezzy,  with  the  rest,  to 
supper  with  him  at  the  Angel.  On  Monday  they  break- 
fasted with  him ;  then  they  parted,  expecting  to  see  him 
no  more  till  they  came  to  London,  but  on  Wednesday 
he  sent  his  man  to  invite  them  to  supper  at  night.  On 
Thursday  he  invited  them  to  dinner,  at  night  to  supper, 
and  on  Friday  morning  to  breakfast,  when  he  took  his 
leave  of  them  and  rode  for  London.  They  got  into 
town  on  Saturday  about  noon,  and  that  evening  Patty 
writ  me  an  account  of  her  journey. 

Dear  Jackey,  I  can't  stay  now  to  talk  about  Hetty, 
but  this  —  I  hope  better  of  her  than  some  others  do.  I 
pray  God  to  bless  you.     Adieu.  S.  W. 


302  HETTY   WESLEY 

Hetty  had  been  warned  that  her  uncle  and  Patty- 
would  arrive  on  the  Saturday.  She  did  not  expect  them 
before  evening ;  nevertheless,  in  the  forenoon  she  sallied 
out,  and  stopping  in  the  market  on  her  way  to  buy  a 
large  bunch  of  roses,  walked  to  Johnson's  Court,  where 
the  door  was  opened  to  her  by  her  own  cook-maid — a  fear- 
less, middle-aged  Scotswoman  who  did  not  mind  inhabit- 
ing an  empty  house,  and  whom  she  had  sent  to  uncle 
Matthew  on  the  eve  of  his  departure,  as  well  to  get  her 
out  of  the  way  as  to  relieve  him  of  his  search  for  a  care- 
taker. 

Janet  noted  that  her  mistress's  face  was  pale  and  her 
eyes  unnaturally  bright  with  want  of  sleep,  but  held  her 
tongue,  being  ever  a  woman  of  few  words.  Together  the 
two  dressed  the  table  and  set  out  the  cold  viands  in  case 
the  travellers  should  arrive  in  time  for  dinner.  The  rest 
of  the  meal  would  be  sent  in  at  a  few  minutes'  notice 
from  the  tavern  at  the  entrance  of  the  coiirt. 

Having  seen  to  these  preparations  and  paid  a  visit  of 
inspection  to  the  bedrooms,  she  set  out  on  her  way  back 
to  Frith  Street  just  as  St.  Dunstan's  clock  was  striking 
eleven.  She  left,  promising  Janet  to  return  before 
nightfall. 

Night  was  dusking  down  upon  the  narrow  court  as 
she  entered  it  again  out  of  the  rattle  of  Fleet  Street. 
She  had  lost  her  springy  gait,  and  dragged  her  legs 
heavily  under  the  burden  of  the  unborn  child  and  a  strain 
which  during  the  past  four  or  five  days  had  become  a 
physical  torture.  She  came  out  of  her  own  thoughts 
with  an  effort,  to  wonder  if  the  travellers  had  arrived. 


HETTY   WESLEY  303 

Her  eyes  went  up  to  the  windows  of  uncle  Matthew's 
parlour  :  and,  while  they  rested  there,  the  room  within  of 
a  sudden  grew  bright  Janet  had  entered  it  with  a  lamp 
and,  having  set  it  down,  came  forward  to  draw  the  cur- 
tains and  close  the  shutters.  At  the  same  moment  in  the 
other  window  an  arm  went  up  to  the  curtain  and  the  slim 
figure  of  Patty  stood  dark  against  the  lamphght.  She 
stood  for  a  moment  gazing  out  upon  the  court ;  gazing, 
as  it  seemed  to  Hetty,  straight  down  upon  her.  Hetty 
came  to  a  halt,  crouching  in  the  dusk  against  the  wall. 
Now  that  she  knew  of  their  arrival  she  had  no  wish  to 
greet  either  her  sister  or  her  uncle  :  nay,  as  her  own  dark 
shadow  overtook  her  —  the  thought  of  the  drunkard  at 
home  in  the  lonely  house  —  she  knew  that  she  could  not 
climb  to  that  lighted  room  and  kiss  and  welcome  them. 

As  her  sister's  hand  drew  the  curtain,  she  turned  and 
sped  back  down  the  court.  She  broke  into  a  run.  The 
pedestrians  in  the  dim  streets  were  as  ghosts  to  her. 
"  She  ought  not  to  have  left  him.  Heaven  alone  knew 
how  long  this  fit  would  last ;  but  while  it  lasted  her  place 
was  beside  him."  Twice,  thrice  she  came  to  a  dead  stop, 
and  panted  with  one  hand  at  her  breast,  the  other  laid 
flat  against  a  house-wall  or  the  closed  shutters  of  a  shop, 
and  so  supporting  her.  Men  peered  into  her  face,  passed 
on,  but  turned  their  heads  to  stare  back  at  her,  not  doubt- 
ing her  a  loose  woman  the  worse  for  drink,  but  pierced 
with  wonder,  if  not  with  pity,  at  her  extraordinary  beauty. 
She  heeded  them  not,  but  always,  as  soon  as  she  caught 
her  breath  again,  ran  on. 

She  turned  the  corner  of  Frith  Street.    Heaven  knows 


304 


HETTY   WESLEY 


what  she  expected  to  see — the  house  in  a  blaze,  perhaps : 
but  the  dingy  thoroughfare  lay  quiet  before  her,  with  a 
shop  here  and  there  casting  a  feeble  light  across  the  pav- 
ing stones.  The  murmur  of  the  streets,  and  with  it  all 
sense  of  human  help  within  call,  fell  away  and  were  lost. 
She  must  face  the  horror  alone. 

The  house  was  dark  —  all  but  one  window,  behind  the 
yellow  blind  of  which  a  Hght  shone.  She  drew  out  her 
latchkey  and  at  first  fumbled  at  the  opening  with  a  shak- 
ing hand.  Then  she  recalled  her  courage,  found  the 
latch  at  once,  slipped  in  the  key  and  pushed  the  door 
open. 

No  sound:  the  stairs  stretched  up  before  her  into  pitchy 
darkness.  She  held  her  breath  ;  tried  to  listen.  Still  no 
sound  but  one  in  her  ears  —  the  thump-thump  of  her  own 
overstrained  heart.  She  closed  the  door  as  softly  as  she 
could,  and  mounted  the  first  flight. 

Hark !  the  sound  of  a  step  above,  followed  by  a  faint 
glimmer  of  light.  At  the  turn  of  the  stairs  she  looked  up 
and  faced  him.  He  stood  on  the  landing  outside  their 
bedroom  door,  with  a  candle  held  aloft.  His  eyes  were 
blazing. 

He  must  be  met  quietly,  and  quietly  she  went  up.  "  See 
how  quick  I  have  been  !  "  she  said  gaily,  and  her  voice 
did  not  shake.  She  passed  in  by  the  open  door.  He 
followed  her  stupidly  and  set  the  candle  down. 

"  They  have  arrived,"  she  said,  drawing  off  her  mittens. 
Her  eyes  travelled  round  the  room  to  assure  her  that  no 
weapon  lay  handy,  though  for  her  own  sake  she  had  no 
wish  to  live. 


HETTY   WESLEY  305 

**  Come  here,"  he  commanded  thickly. 

*'  Yes,  dear  ;  what  is  it?  " 

"  Where  have  you  been  ?  " 

"Why,  to  Johnson's  Court,  as  you  know." 

"  Conspiring  against  me,  eh  .'*  "  He  pushed  his  face 
close  to  hers  :  his  reeking  breath  sickened  her  :  but  she 
smiled  on,  expecting  him  to  strike. 

"Come  here!"  —  though  she  was  close  already. 
"  Stand  up.  I'll  teach  you  to  gossip  about  me.  You 
and  your  gentry,  my  fine  madam.  I'll  teach  you  —  I'll 
teach  you ! " 

He  struck  now,  blow  after  blow.  She  turned  her  quiv- 
ering shoulders  to  it,  shielding  the  unborn  child. 

He  beat  her  to  her  knees.  Still  she  curved  her  back, 
holding  her  arms  stiffly  before  her,  leaving  her  head  and 
neck  exposed.  Would  the  next  blow  kill  her. ^  She  waited. 

The  table  went  over  with  a  crash,  the  light  with  it. 
He  must  have  fallen  across  it :  for  an  instant  later,  she 
heard  the  thud  of  his  head  against  the  floor. 

It  seemed  to  her  that  she  crouched  there  for  an  end- 
less while,  waiting  for  him  to  stir.  He  lay  close  beside 
her  foot. 

Her  heel  touched  him  as  she  rose.  She  groped  for 
the  tinder-box,  found  the  candle,  lit   it,  held  it  over  him. 

A  trickle  of  blood  ran  from  his  right  temple,  where 
it  had  struck  against  the  bed-post.  His  eyes  were 
closed.    She  loosened  his  collar,  put  forth  all  her  strength 

—  her  old  maiden  strength  for  a  moment  restored  to  her 

—  and  lifted  him  on  to  the  bed. 

By-and-by  his  lips   parted  in   a  sigh.     He  began  to 


3o6  HETTY   WESLEY 

breathe  heavily— to  sleep,  as  she  thought.  Still  the 
blood  trickled  slowly  from  his  temple  and  on  to  the 
pillow.  She  stepped  to  the  water-jug,  dipped  her  hand- 
kerchief in  it,  and  drawing  a  chair  to  the  bedside,  seated 
herself  and  began  to  bathe  the  wound. 

When  the  bleeding  stopped,  as  the  touch  of  cold  water 
appeared  to  soothe  him,  she  fetched  a  towel  and  pressed 
it  gently  about  his  neck  and  behind  his  ears.  He  was 
sleeping  now  :  for  he  smiled  and  muttered  something. 
Almost  she  thought  it  was  her  own  name. 

Still  she  sat  beside  him,  her  body  aching,  her  heart 
cold  ;  and  watched  him,  hour  after  hour. 


VII 

"    A  ND  my  brothers  visit  her  ?  " 

•^Jk.  Twilight  with  invisible  veils  closed  around  Ep- 
worth,  its  parsonage,  and  the  high-walled  garden  where 
Molly,  staff  in  hand,  limped  to  and  fro  beside  Johnny 
Whitelamb  —  promoted  now  to  be  the  Reverend  John 
Whitelamb,  B.A.  He  had  arrived  that  afternoon,  hav- 
ing walked  all  the  way  from  Oxford. 

—  "Whenever  they  visit  London,"  he  answered. 
"  Charles,  you  know,  upheld  her  from  the  first,  and 
John  has  come  to  admit  that  her  sufferings  have  lifted 
her  above  man's  judgment.  They  talk  with  her  as  with 
their  equal  in  wit  —  " 

"  Why,  and  so  she  is  !  " 

"  No  doubt :  but  it  does  not  follow  that  John  would 
acknowledge  it.  They  report  their  Oxford  doings  to 
her,  and  their  plans :  and  she  listens  eagerly  and  ad- 
vises. To  me  the  strange  thing  is,  as  she  manages  it, 
that  her  interest  does  not  tie  her  down  to  sharing  their 
opinions.  She  speaks  always  as  a  looker-on,  and  they 
recognize  this.  She  keeps  her  own  mind,  just  as  she 
has  always  held  to  her  own  view  of  her  marriage.  I 
have  never  heard  her  complain,  and  to  her  husband  she 
is  an  angel :  yet  I  am  sure  (without  being  able  to  tell 
you  why)  that  her  heart  condemns  your  father  and  will 
always  condemn  him." 

307 


308  HETTY   WESLEY 

"  She  knows  what  her  punishment  has  been  :  we  can 
only  guess.     Does  the  man  drink  still  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  he  drinks  :  but  she  is  no  longer  anxious  about 
him.  Your  uncle  Matthew  told  me  that  in  his  first  at- 
tacks he  used  to  be  no  better  than  a  madman.  Some- 
thing happened  :  nobody  seems  to  know  precisely  what 
it  was,  except  that  he  fell  and  injured  his  head.  Now 
the  craving  for  drink  remains,  but  he  soaks  harmlessly. 
No  doubt  he  will  kill  himself  in  time ;  meanwhile  even 
at  his  worst  he  is  tractable,  and  obeys  Hetty  like  a 
child.  To  do  the  man  justice,  he  was  always  fond  of 
her." 

"  Poor  Hetty  !  " 

"  John  has  spoken  to  her  once  or  twice  about  her  soul, 
I  believe:  but  he  does  not  persist." 

"  H'm,"  said  Molly,  "you  had  better  say  that  he  is 
biding  his  time.     John  always  persists." 

"That's  true,"  he  owned  with  a  laugh  :  "but  I  have 
never  known  him  so  baffled  to  all  appearance.  The  fact 
is,  she  cannot  be  roused  to  any  interest  in  herself.  Of 
others  she  never  ceases  to  think.  It  was  she,  for  in- 
stance—  when  I  could  not  afford  to  buy  myself  a  gown 
for  ordination  —  who  started  the  notion  of  a  subscrip- 
tion in  the  family."  He  was  wearing  the  gown  now, 
and  drew  it  about  him  with  another  laugh.  "  Hence 
the  majestic  figure  I  cut  before  you  at  this  moment." 

"But  we  all  subscribed,  sir.  You  shall  not  slight 
my  poor  offering  —  all  made  up  as  it  was  of  dairy- 
pence." 

"  Miss  Molly,  all  my  life  is  a  patchwork  made  up  of 


HETTY   WESLEY  309 

kind  deeds  and  kind  thoughts  from  one  or  other  of  you. 
You  do  not  believe  —  " 

"  Nay,  you  love  us  all,  John.  I  know  that  well 
enough." 

For  some  reason  a  silence  fell  between  them.  Molly 
broke  it  with  a  laugh,  which  nevertheless  trembled  a 
little.     *'  Then  your  gown  should  be  a  patchwork,  too  .-*  " 

"  Why,  to  be  sure  it  is,"  he  answered  gravely ;  "  and 
I  wish  the  world  could  see  it  so,  quartered  out  upon  me 
like  a  herald's  coat,  and  each  quartering  assigned  —  that 
is  Mr.  Wesley's,  and  that  your  mother's,  and  that,  again, 
your  brother  John's  —  " 

"  And  the  sleeve  Miss  Molly's :  I  will  be  content 
with  a  sleeve.  Only  it  must  have  the  armorial  bearings 
proper  to  a  fourth  daughter,  with  my  simple  motto  — 
'Butter  and  New-laid  Eggs.'  " 

The  sound  of  their  merriment  reached  Mrs.  Wesley 
through  an  open  window,  and  in  the  dim  kitchen  she 
smiled  to  herself. 

"But,"  objected  he,  "the  sleeve  will  not  do.  I  do  not 
wear  my  heart  upon  my  sleeve,  Molly."  She  turned  her 
head  abruptly.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  had  dared 
to  call  her  Molly,  and  was  trembling  at  his  boldness. 
At  first  he  took  the  movement  for  a  prompt  rebuke  : 
then,  deciding  that  she  had  not  heard,  he  was  at  once 
relieved  and  disappointed. 

But  be  sure  she  had  heard.  And  she  was  not  angry  : 
only  —  this  was  not  the  old  Johnny  Whitelamb,  but  an- 
other man  in  speech  and  accent,  and  she  felt  more  than 
a  little  afraid  of  him. 


3IO 


HETTY   WESLEY 


*'Tell  me  more  of  Hetty,"  she  commanded,  and  rest- 
ing one  hand  on  her  staff  pointed  to  the  south-west, 
where,  over  the  coping  of  the  wall,  out  of  a  pure  green 
chasm  infinitely  deep  between  reddened  clouds  of  sun- 
set, the  evening  star  looked  down. 

He  knew  the  meaning  of  the  sudden  gesture.  Had 
not  Hetty  ever  been  her  star  ? 

"  She  is  beautiful  as  ever.  You  never  saw  so  sad  a 
face  :  the  sadder  because  it  is  never  morose." 

"  I  believe,  John,  you  loved  her  best  of  us  all." 

"  I  worshipped  her.  To  be  her  servant,  or  her  dog, 
would  have  been  enough  for  me.  I  never  dared  to  think 
of  her  as  —  as  —  " 

—  ''As  you  thought,  for  example,  of  her  crippled 
sister,  whom  you  protected." 

"Molly!"  He  drew  back.  "Ah,  if  I  dared  — if  I 
dared  ! "  she  heard  him  stammer,  and  faced  him  swiftly, 
with  a  movement  he  might  have  misread  for  anger,  but 
for  the  soul  shining  in  her  eyes. 

"  Dare,  then  !  " 

"  But  I  am  penniless,"  said  he,  a  few  moments  later. 
For  him  the  heavens  still  spun  and  the  earth  reeled  : 
but  out  of  their  turmoil  this  hard  truth  emerged  as  a 
rock  from  the  withdrawing  flood. 

"  God  will  provide  for  us.  He  knows  that  I  cannot 
wait  —  and  you  —  you  must  forget  that  I  was  unmaidenly 
and  wooed  you :  for  I  did,  and  it's  useless  to  deny  it. 
But  I  have  known  —  known  —  oh,  for  ever  so  long  ! 
And  I  have  a  short  while  to  be  happy ! " 


HETTY   WESLEY  31I 

Either  he  did  not  hear  or  he  let  slip  her  meaning. 
His  eyes  were  on  the  star,  now  almost  level  with  the 
wall's  coping. 

''And  this  has  come  to  me:  to  me  —  that  was  once 
Johnny  Whitelamb  of  the  Charity  School !  " 

"  And  to  me,"  she  murmured  ;  "  to  me  —  poor  Grizzle, 
whom  even  her  parents  despised.  The  stars  shine  upon 
all." 

''  I  remember,"  he  said,  musing,  "  at  Oxford,  one 
night,  walking  back  to  college  with  your  brother  John. 
We  had  been  visiting  the  prisoners  in  Bocardo.  As  we 
turned  into  the  Turl  between  Exeter  and  Jesus  colleges 
there,  at  the  end  of  the  street  —  it  is  little  more  than  a 
lane  —  beyond  the  spire  of  All  Saints'  this  planet  was 
shining.  John  told  me  its  name,  and  with  a  sudden  ac- 
cord we  stood  still  for  a  moment,  watching  it.  '  Do  you 
believe  it  inhabited.?'  I  asked.  'Why  not.?'  he  said. 
'  Then  why  not,  as  this  world,  by  sinners  :  and  if  by 
sinners,  by  souls  crying  for  redemption  in  Christ  ? '  '  Ay,' 
said  he,  'for  aught  we  know  the  son  of  God  may  pass 
along  the  heavens  adding  martyrdom  to  martyrdom, 
may  even  at  this  moment  be  bound  on  a  cross  in  some 
unseen  planet  swinging  around  one  in  this  multitude  of 
stars.  But,'  he  broke  off,  '  what  have  we  to  do  with  this 
folly  of  speculation  ?  This  world  is  surely  parish  enough 
for  a  man,  and  in  it  he  may  be  puzzled  all  his  days  to 
save  his  own  soul  out  of  the  many  millions.'  " 

"And  father,"  murmured  Molly,  "designs  him  to  take 
Epworth  cure  !     But  why  are  you  telling  me  this  ?  " 

"  Because  I  see  now  that  if  God's  love  reaches  up  to 


312  HETTY   WESLEY 

every  star  and  down  to  every  poor  soul  on  earth,  it  must 
be  something  vastly  simple,  so  simple  that  all  dwellers 
on  earth  may  be  assured  of  it,  as  all  who  have  eyes  may 
be  assured  of  the  planet  yonder ;  and  so  vast  that  all 
bargaining  is  below  it,  and  they  may  inherit  it  without 
considering  their  deserts.  Is  not  God's  love  greater  than 
human  ?  Yet,  see,  this  earthly  love  has  come  to  me  — 
Johnny  Whitelamb  —  as  to  a  king.  It  has  taken  no 
account  of  my  worth,  my  weakness :  in  its  bounty  I  am 
swallowed  up  and  do  not  weigh.  To  dream  of  it  as  hold- 
ing tally  with  me  is  to  belittle  and  drag  it  down  in  thought 
to  something  scarcely  larger  than  myself.  I  share  it 
with  kings,  as  I  share  this  star.  Can  I  think  God's  love 
less  magnificent  ? " 

But  Molly  shrank  close  to  him.  **  Dear,  do  not  talk 
of  these  great  things  :  they  frighten  me.  I  am  so  small 
—  and  we  have  so  short  a  while  to  be  happy !  " 


VIII 

Samuel  Wesley  to  the  Lord  Chancellor 

Westminster, /<2«?/ar)/  14///,  1733-4. 

MY  LORD,  —  The  small  rectory  of  Wroote,  in  the 
diocese  and  county  of  Lincoln,  adjoining  to  the 
Isle  of  Axholme,  is  in  the  gift  of  the  Lord  Chancellor, 
and  more  than  seven  years  since  it  was  conferred  on 
Samuel  Wesley,  Rector  of  Epworth.  It  lies  in  our  low 
levels,  and  is  often  overflowed — four  or  five  years  since 
I  have  had  it ;  and  the  people  have  lost  most  or  all  the 
fruits  of  the  earth  to  that  degree  that  it  has  hardly  brought 
me  in  fifty  pounds  per  annum,  omnibus  aujiis,  and  some 
years  not  enough  to  pay  my  curate  there  his  salary  of 
£^0  a  year. 

This  living,  by  your  lordship's  permission  and  favour, 
I  would  gladly  resign  to  one  Mr.  John  Whitelamb,  born 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  Wroote,  as  his  father  and  grand- 
father lived  in  it,  when  I  took  him  from  among  the  scholars 
of  a  charity  school,  founded  by  one  Mr.  Travers,  an  attor- 
ney, brought  him  to  my  house,  and  educated  him  there, 
where  he  was  my  amanuensis  for  four  years  in  transcrib- 
ing my  "Dissertations  on  the  Book  of  Job,"  now  well 
advanced  in  the  press  ;  and  drawing  my  maps  and  figures 
for  it,  as  well  as  we  could  by  the  light  of  nature.  After 
this  I  sent  him  to  Oxford,  to  my  son  John  Wesley,  Fellow 

313 


314  HETTY   WESLEY 

of  Lincoln  College,  under  whom  he  made  such  proficiency 
that  he  was  the  last  summer  admitted  by  the  Bishop  of 
Oxford  into  Deacon's  Orders,  and  placed  my  curate  in 
Epworth,  while  I  came  up  to  town  to  expedite  the 
printing  my  book. 

Since  I  was  here  I  gave  consent  to  his  marrying  one 
of  my  seven  daughters,  and  they  are  married  accordingly ; 
and  though  I  can  spare  little  more  with  her,  yet  I  would 
gladly  give  them  a  little  glebe  land  at  Wroote,  where  I 
am  sure  they  will  not  want  springs  of  water.  But  they 
love  the  place,  though  I  can  get  nobody  else  to  reside 
on  it.  If  I  do  not  flatter  myself,  he  is  indeed  a  valuable 
person,  of  uncommon  brightness,  learning,  piety,  and  in- 
defatigable industry ;  always  loyal  to  the  King,  zealous 
for  the  Church,  and  friendly  to  our  Dissenting  Brethren  ; 
and  for  the  truth  of  this  character  I  will  be  answerable 
to  God  and  man.  If  therefore  your  lordship  will  grant 
me  the  favour  to  let  me  resign  the  living  unto  him,  and 
please  to  confer  it  on  him,  I  shall  always  remain  your 
lordship's  most  bounden,  most  grateful,  and  most  obedi- 
ent servant, 

Samuel  Wesley,  Sen. 

The  Lord  Chancellor  complied :  and  so,  in  February, 
with  an  income  of  but  fifty  pounds  a  year,  increased  to 
seventy  by  Mr.  Wesley's  kindness,  but  in  good  heart  and 
hope  and  such  love  as  can  only  be  between  two  simple 
hearts  that  have  proved  each  other,  John  Whitelamb  and 
Molly  took  possession  of  the  small  parsonage. 

They  were  happy :  and  of  their  happiness  there  is  no 


HETTY   WESLEY  315 

more  to  be  said,  save  that  ir  was  brief.  In  the  last  days 
of  October  Molly's  child  was  born,  and  died :  and  a  few 
hours  later  while  the  poor  man  held  her  close,  refusing 
to  believe,  with  a  sigh  Molly's  spirit  slipped  between  his 
arms  and  went  to  God. 

To  God  ?  It  tore  the  man  up  by  the  roots,  and  the 
root-soil  of  his  faith  crumbled  and  fell  with  the  moulds 
upon  her  coffin.  He  went  from  her  graveside  back  to 
the  house  and  closed  the  door.  Mrs.  Wesley  had  urged 
him  to  return  with  the  family  to  Ep worth,  and  John,  who 
had  ridden  from  Oxford  to  preach  the  funeral  sermon, 
shook  him  by  the  hand  and  added  his  persuasions.  But 
the  broken  husband  thanked  him  shortly,  and  strode  away. 
He  had  sat  through  the  sermon  without  listening  to  a  word : 
and  now  he  went  back  to  a  house  lonely  even  of  God. 

He  and  Molly  had  been  too  poor  to  keep  a  servant : 
but  on  the  eve  of  her  illness  a  labourer's  wife  had  been 
hired  to  do  the  housework  and  cook  the  meals.  And 
seeing  his  lethargy,  this  sensible  woman,  without  asking 
questions,  continued  to  arrive  at  seven  in  the  morning 
and  depart  at  seven  in  the  evening.  He  ate  the  food  she 
set  before  him.  On  Sunday  he  heard  the  bell  ringing 
from  his  church  hard  by.  But  he  had  prepared  no  ser- 
mon :  and  after  the  bell  had  ceased  he  sat  in  his  study 
before  an  open  book,  oblivious. 

Yet  prayer  was  read,  and  a  sermon  preached,  in  Wroote 
Church  that  day.  John  Wesley  had  walked  over  from 
Epworth  ;  and  when  the  bell  ceased  ringing,  and  the 
minutes  passed,  and  still  no  rector  appeared,  had  stepped 
quietly  to  the  reading  desk. 


3i6 


HETTY   WESLEY 


After   service   he  walked   across   to   the    parsonage, 
knocked  gently  at  the  study  door  and  entered. 

**  Brother  Whitelamb,"  he  said,  "you  have  need  of  us, 
I  think,  and  I  know  that  my  father  has  need  of  you. 
To-morrow  I  return  to  Oxford,  and  I  leave  a  letter  with 
him  that  he  will  wish  to  answer.  Death  has  shaken  him 
by  the  hand  and  it  cannot  guide  a  pen :  he  will  be  glad 
to  employ  his  old  amanuensis.  What  is  more,  his  answer 
to  my  letter  will  contain  much  worth  your  pondering,  as 
well  as  mine,  for  it  will  be  concerned  with  even  such  a 
spiritual  charge  as  you  have  this  day  been  neglecting." 

"  Brother  Wesley,"  answered  the  widower,  looking 
up,  "you  have  done  a  kind  deed  this  morning.  But 
what  was  your  text  ?  " 

"  My  text  was,  '  Son  of  man,  behold  I  take  from  thee 
the  desire  of  thine  eyes  with  a  stroke :  yet  shalt  thou 
not  mourn  or  weep,  neither  shall  thy  tears  run  down.'  " 
"  I  love  you,  brother :  you  have  ever  been  kind  in- 
deed to  me.  Yet  you  put  it  in  my  mind  at  times,  that  the 
poor  servant  with  one  talent  had  some  excuse  if  a  poor  de- 
fence, who  said  '  I  know  thee,  that  thou  art  a  hard  man.'  " 
"  Do  I  reap  then  where  I  have  not  sown,  and  gather 
where  I  have  not  strewn  ?  " 

"  I  will  not  say  that.  But  I  see  that  others  prepare 
the  way  for  you  and  will  do  so,  as  Charles  prepared  it 
at  Oxford  :  and  finding  it  prepared,  you  take  command 
and  march  onward.  You  were  born  to  take  command  : 
the  hand  of  God  is  evident  upon  you.  But  some  grow 
faint  by  the  way  and  drop  behind,  and  you  have  no 
bowels  for  these." 


HETTY   WESLEY  317 

Silence  fell  between  them.  John  Whitelamb  broke 
it.  '*  I  can  guess  what  your  father's  letter  will  be  —  a 
last  appeal  to  you  to  succeed  him  in  Epworth  parish. 
Do  you  mean  to  consent  ?  " 

"  I  think  not.     My  reasons  —  " 

"  Nay,  it  is  certain  you  will  not.  And  as  for  your 
reasons,  they  do  not  matter :  they  may  be  good,  but 
God  has  better,  who  decides  for  you.  Yet  deal  gently 
with  the  old  man,  for  you  are  denying  the  dearest  wish 
of  his  heart." 

"  May  I  tell  him  that  you  will  come  ? " 
"  I  will  come  when  he  sends  for  me." 
Mr.  Wesley's  message  did  not  arrive  until  a  good  fort- 
night later,  during  which  time  John  Whitelamb  had  fallen 
back  upon  his  own  sorrow.  He  resumed  his  duties,  but 
with  no  heart.  From  the  hour  of  his  wife's  death  he 
sank  gradually  into  the  rut  of  a  Hstless  parish  priest  —  a 
solitary  man,  careless  of  his  dress  as  of  his  duties,  loved 
by  his  parishioners  for  the  kindness  of  his  heart.  They 
said  that  sorrow  had  broken  him  ;  but  the  case  was  worse 
than  this.     He  had  lost  assurance  of  God's  goodness. 

He  could  not,  with  such  a  doubt  in  his  heart,  go  to 
his  wife's  family  for  comfort.  He  loved  them  as  ever  ; 
but  he  could  not  trust  their  love  to  deal  tenderly  with 
his  infidelity.  No  Wesley  would  ever  have  let  a  human 
sorrow  interfere  with  faith:  no  Wesley  (it  seemed  to 
him)  would  understand  such  a  disaster.  It  was  upon 
this  thought  that  he  had  called  John  a  hard  man.  He 
recognized  the  truth  and  that  he  was  but  brittle  earthen- 
ware beside  these  hammered  vessels  of  service. 


3i8  HETTY   WESLEY 

Nevertheless,  when  in  obedience  to  Mr.  Wesley's 
message  he  presented  himself  at  Epworth,  he  was  sur- 
prised by  the  calm  everyday  air  with  which  the  old  man 
received  him.  He  had  expected  at  least  some  word  of 
his  grief,  some  fatherly  pressure  of  the  hand.  There 
was  none.  He  knew,  to  be  sure,  that  old  age  deadened 
sensibility.  But,  after  all,  his  dear  Molly  had  been  this 
man's  child,  if  not  the  best-beloved. 

"  Son  Whitelamb,  my  hand  is  weary,  and  there  is  much 
to  write.  Help  me  to  my  dearest  wish  on  earth  —  the 
only  wish  now  left  to  me:  help  me  that  Jack  may  inherit 
Epworth  cure  when  I  am  gone.  Hear  what  he  objects: 
*The  question  is  not  whether  I  could  do  more  good  there 
or  here  in  Oxford,  but  whether  I  could  do  more  good  to 
myself ;  seeing  wherever  I  can  be  most  holy  myself,  there 
I  can  most  promote  holiness  in  others.  But  I  can  im- 
prove myself  more  at  Oxford  than  at  any  other  place.' 
The  lad  must  think  I  forget  my  logic.  See  you,  he 
juggles  me  with  identical  propositions !  First  it  is  no 
question  of  doing  good  to  others,  but  to  himself ;  and 
anon  when  he  does  most  good  to  himself  he  will  do  most 
good  to  others.  Am  I  a  dead  dog,  to  be  pelted  with 
such  sophisms.?     Son  Whitelamb,  is  your  pen  ready.?" 

"  Of  what  avail  is  this  t  "  John  Whitelamb  asked  him- 
self. "These  men,  father  and  son,  decide  first,  and, 
having  decided,  find  no  lack  of  arguments.  It  is  but 
pride  of  the  mind  in  which  they  clothe  their  will.  More- 
over, if  there  be  a  God,  what  a  vain  conflict  am  I  aiding  ! 
seeing  that  time  with  Him  is  not,  and  all  has  been 
decided  from  the  beginning." 


HETTY  WESLEY  319 

Yet  he  took  down  the  answer  with  his  habitual  care, 
glancing  up  in  the  pauses  at  the  old  face,  gray  and 
intense  beneath  the  dark  skull-cap.     The  letter  ended : 

"  If  you  are  not  indifferent  whether  the  labours  of  an 
aged  father  for  above  forty  years  in  God's  vineyard  be 
lost,  and  the  fences  of  it  trodden  down  and  destroyed ; 
if  you  have  any  care  for  our  family,  which  must  be 
dismally  shattered  as  soon  as  I  am  dropped  ;  if  you 
reflect  on  the  dear  love  and  longing  which  this  dear 
people  has  for  you,  whereby  you  will  be  enabled  to  do 
God  the  more  service;  and  the  plenteousness  of  the 
harvest,  consisting  of  near  two  thousand  souls,  whereas 
you  have  not  many  more  scholars  in  the  University ; 
you  may  perhaps  alter  your  mind,  and  bend  your  will  to 
His,  who  has  promised,  if  in  all  our  ways  we  acknow- 
ledge Him,  He  will  direct  our  paths." 


CONCLUSION 


"  T  TNTO  him  that  worketh  not,  but  believeth  on  Him 

^  that  justifieth  the  ungodly,  his  faith  is  counted  to 
him  for  righteousness." 

All  the  world  has  heard  how  John  Wesley  rode,  eight 
years  later,  into  Epworth  ;  and  how,  his  father's  pulpit 
having  been  denied  to  him,  he  stood  outside  upon  his 
father's  tomb  and  preached  evening  after  evening  in  the 
warm  June  weather  the  gospel  of  Justification  by  Faith 
to  the  listening  crowd.  Visitors  are  shown  the  grit 
slab,  now  recut  and  resting  on  a  handsome  structure  of 
stone,  but  then  upon  plainest  brickwork  :  and  are  bidden 
to  notice,  in  the  blank  space  below  the  words,  "  Their 
works  do  follow  them,"  two  rough  pieces  of  ironstone 
which  mark  where  the  preacher's  feet  rested. 

Eight  evenings  he  preached  from  it,  and  on  the  third 
evening  chose  for  his  text  these  words  :  "Unto  him  that 
worketh  not,  but  believeth  on  Him  that  justifieth  the 
ungodly,  his  faith  is  counted  to  him  for  righteousness." 

Under  a  sycamore  by  the  churchyard  wall  at  a  little 
distance  from  the  crowd  a  man  stood  and  listened  —  a 
clergyman  in  a  worn  black  gown,  a  man  not  old  in  years 
but  with  a  face  prematurely  old  and  shoulders  that  al- 
ready stooped  under  the  burden  of  life  —  John  White- 
Y  321 


322  HETTY   WESLEY 

lamb.  He  watched  between  fear  and  hope  to  be 
recognized.  When  the  preacher  mounted  the  slab, 
stroked  back  his  hair  and,  turning  his  face  towards  the 
sycamore,  fixed  his  eyes  (as  it  seemed)  upon  the  figure 
beneath  it,  he  felt  sure  he  had  been  recognized :  a 
moment  later  he  doubted  whether  that  gaze  had  passed 
over  him  in  forgetfulness  or  contempt. 

He  felt  himself  worthy  of  contempt.  They  had  been 
too  hard  for  him,  these  Wesleys.  They  had  all  departed 
from  Epworth,  years  before,  and  left  him,  who  had  been 
their  brother,  alone  with  his  miserable  doubts.  No 
letters,  no  message  of  remembered  affection  or  present 
good  will,  ever  came  from  them.  He  had  been  unfaith- 
ful to  his  religion  :  they  had  cast  him  off.  For  seven 
years  he  had  walked  and  laboured  among  the  men  and 
women  here  gathered  in  the  midsummer  dusk :  but  the 
faces  to  which  he  had  turned  for  comfort  were  faces  of 
the  past  —  some  dead,  others  far  away. 

So  the  preacher's  voice  came  to  him  as  one  rending 
the  sepulchre.  "  Son  of  man,  can  these  bones  live  ?  " 
Yes,  the  bones  of  Christ's  warrior  beneath  the  slab  — laid 
there  to  rest  in  utter  weariness  —  were  stirring,  putting 
forth  strength  and  a  voice  that  pierced  his  living  marrow. 
Ah,  how  it  penetrated,  unlocking  old  wells  of  tears ! 

He  listened,  letting  his  tears  run.  Only  once  did  he 
withdraw  his  eyes,  and  then  for  a  moment  they  fell  on 
John  Romley  loitering,  too,  on  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd 
by  the  churchyard  gate  and  plainly  in  two  minds  about 
interfering.  Romley  was  curate  of  Epworth  now,  delegate 
of  an  absentee  sporting  rector  :  and  had  in  truth  set  this 


HETTY   WESLEY  323 

ball  rolling  by  denying  John  Wesley  his  pulpit.  He  had 
miscalculated  his  flock  ;  this  stubborn  English  breed  so 
loyal  in  enmity,  loving  the  memory  of  a  foe  who  had 
proved  himself  a  man.  He  watched  with  a  loose-lipped 
sneer  ;  too  weak  to  conquer  his  own  curiosity,  far  too  weak 
to  assert  his  authority  and  attempt  to  clear  the  church- 
yard of  that  ''enthusiasm  "  which  he  had  denounced  in 
his  most  florid  style  last  Sunday,  within  the  church. 

John  Whitelamb's  gaze  travelled  back  to  the  preacher. 
Up  to  this  he  had  heard  the  voice  only,  and  the  dead  man 
in  his  grave  below  speaking  through  that  voice.  Now  he 
listened  to  the  words.  If  the  dead  man  spoke  through 
them,  what  a  change  had  death  wrought  —  what  wisdom 
had  he  found  in  the  dust  that  equals  all !  What  had  be- 
come of  the  old  confident  righteousness,  the  old  pride  of 
intellect .?  They  were  stripped  and  flung  aside  as  filthy 
rags.  "  Apart  from  faith  we  do  not  count.  We  are  re- 
deemed :  we  are  saved.  Christ  has  made  with  us  no  bar- 
gain at  all  except  to  beUeve  that  the  bargain  is  concluded. 
What  are  we  at  the  best  that  He  should  make  distinctions 
between  us  t  We  are  all  sinners  and  our  infinitesimal 
grades  of  sin  sunk  in  His  magnificent  mercy.  Only  ac- 
knowledge your  sin  :  only  admit  the  mercy  ;  and  you  are 
healed,  pardoned,  made  joint  heirs  with  Christ  —  not  in  a 
fair  way  to  be  healed,  not  going  to  be  pardoned  in  some 
future  state ;  but  healed,  pardoned,  your  sins  washed 
away  in  Christ's  blood,  actually,  here  and  now." 

He  heard  men  and  women  —  notorious  evil-livers,  some 
of  them  —  crying  aloud.  Ah,  the  great  simplicity  of  it 
was  beyond  him !  —  and  yet  not  perhaps  beyond  him. 


324 


HETTY   WESLEY 


could  he  believe  the  truth,  in  the  bygone  years  never 
questioned  by  him,  that  Jesus  Christ  was  very  God. 

He  waited  for  the  last  word  and  strode  back  to  his 
lonely  home  with  a  mind  unconvinced  yet  wondering  at 
the  power  he  had  witnessed,  a  heart  bursting  with  love. 

He  sat  down  to  write  at  once :  but  tore  up  many  letters. 
With  Christ,  to  believe  was  to  be  forgiven.  If  Christ 
could  not  be  tender  to  doubt,  how  much  less  would  John 
Wesley  be  tender  ?  It  was  not  until  Friday  that  he  found 
courage  to  despatch  the  following : 

Dear  Brother,  —  I  saw  you  at  Epworth  on  Tuesday 
evening.  Fain  would  I  have  spoken  to  you,  but  that  I 
am  quite  at  a  loss  to  know  how  to  address  or  behave  to 
you. 

Your  way  of  thinking  is  so  extraordinary  that  your 
presence  creates  an  awe,  as  if  you  were  an  inhabitant  of 
another  world.  God  grant  you  and  your  followers  may 
always  have  entire  liberty  of  conscience.  Will  you  not 
allow  others  the  same  ? 

Indeed  I  cannot  think  as  you  do,  any  more  than  I  can 
help  honouring  and  loving  you.  Dear  sir,  will  you  credit 
me.-^  I  retain  the  highest  veneration  and  affection  for 
you.  The  sight  of  you  moves  me  strangely.  My  heart 
overflows  with  gratitude ;  I  feel  in  a  higher  degree  all 
that  tenderness  and  yearning  of  bowels  with  which  I  am 
affected  towards  every  branch  of  Mr.  Wesley's  family.  I 
cannot  refrain  from  tears  when  I  reflect,  This  is  the  man 
who  at  Oxford  was  more  than  a  father  to  me  ;  this  is  he 
whom  I  have  heard  expound,  or  dispute  publicly,  or  preach 


HETTY   WESLEY  325 

at  St.  Mary's,  with  such  applause ;  and  —  oh,  that  I  should 
ever  add  —  whom  I  have  lately  heard  preach  at  Epworth, 
on  his  father's  tombstone  ! 

I  am  quite  forgot.  None  of  the  family  ever  honour 
me  with  a  line.  Have  I  been  ungrateful }  I  have  been 
passionate,  fickle,  a  fool ;  but  I  hope  I  never  shall  be 
ungrateful. 

Dear  sir,  is  it  in  my  power  to  serve  or  oblige  you  in 
any  way  ?  Glad  I  should  be  that  you  would  make  use 
of  me.  God  open  all  our  eyes  and  lead  us  into  truth 
wherever  it  be  !  John  Whitelamb. 

The  answer  was  delivered  to  him  that  same  evening. 
It  ran : 

Dear  Brother,  —  I  take  you  at  your  word,  if  indeed  it 
covers  permission  to  preach  in  your  church  at  Wroote  on 
Sunday  morning  next.  I  design  to  take  for  text  —  and 
God  grant  it  may  be  profitable  to  you  and  to  others  !  — 
"Ask,  and  it  shall  be  given  you." 


II 

FROM  Epworth  John  Wesley  rode  on  to  Sheffield, 
and  then  southward  through  Coventry,  Evesham, 
and  Painswick  to  Bristol,  preaching  as  he  went,  some- 
times thrice  a  day :  from  Bristol  to  Cardiff  and  back ; 
and  so,  on  Sunday  evening,  July  i8th,  towards  London. 
On  Tuesday  morning  he  dismounted  by  the  door  of  the 
Foundry,  having  left  it  just  two  months  before. 

To  his  surprise  it  was  opened  by  Hetty :  but  at  once 
he  guessed  the  reason. 

"Mother.?" 

"  Hist !  The  end  is  very  near  — a  few  hours  perhaps.'* 
She  kissed  him.  "  I  have  been  with  her  these  five  days, 
taking  turns  with  the  others.  They  are  all  here — 
Emmy  and  Sukey  and  Nancy  and  Pat.  Charles  cannot 
be  fetched  in  time,  I  fear." 

"  He  was  in  North  Wales  when  he  last  wrote." 

"Listen  !  "  — a  sound  of  soft  singing  came  down  the 
stairway.  "  They  are  singing  his  hymn  to  her  :  she  begs 
us  constantly  to  sing  to  her." 

"  Jesu,  Lover  of  my  soul, 
Let  me  to  Thy  bosom  fly 
While  the  nearer  waters  roll  —  " 

sang  the  voices  overhead  as  John  followed  his  sister  into 
the  small  sitting-room. 

326 


HETTY   WESLEY  327 

"  What  do  the  doctors  say  ?  " 

"  There  is  nothing  to  be  said.  She  feels  no  pain  ; 
has  no  disease.  It  is  old  age,  brother,  loosening  the 
cords." 

*'She  is  happy.?" 

"  Ah,  so  happy  !  "  Hetty's  eyes  brimmed  with  tears 
and  she  turned  away. 

"Sister,  that  happiness  is  for  you  too.  Why  have 
you,  alone  of  us,  so  far  rejected  it  ^ " 

''No  —  not  now!"  she  protested.  "Speak  to  me 
some  other  time  and  I  will  listen  :  not  now,  when  my 
body  and  heart  are  aching !  " 

Her  sisters  sang : 

"  Other  refuge  have  I  none ; 

Hangs  my  helpless  soul  on  Thee ; 
Leave,  ah !  leave  me  not  alone, 

Still  support  and  comfort  me  ! 
All  my  trust  on  Thee  is  stay'd, 

All  my  help  from  Thee  I  bring : 
Cover  my  defenceless  head 

With  the  shadow  of  Thy  wing  ! " 

She  stepped  to  the  door  with  a  feeble  gesture  of  the 
hands.  She  knew  that,  worn  as  he  was  with  his  journey, 
if  she  gave  him  the  chance  he  would  grasp  it  and  pause, 
even  while  his  mother  panted  her  last,  to  wrestle  for  and 
win  a  soul  —  not  because  she,  Hetty,  was  his  sister; 
simply  because  hers  was  a  soul  to  be  saved.  Yes,  and 
she  foresaw  that  sooner  or  later  he  would  win  :  that  she 
would  be  swept  into  the  flame  of  his  conquest :  yet  her 
poor  bruised  spirit  shrank  back  from  the  flame.  She 
craved  only  to  be  let  alone,  she  feared  all  new  experi- 


328  HETTY   WESLEY 

ence,  she  distrusted  even  the  joy  of  salvation.  Life 
had  been  too  hard  for  Hetty. 

He  followed  her  up  the  stairs  to  his  mother's  room, 
and  entering  commanded  his  sisters  with  a  gesture  to 
sing  the  hymn  to  an  end.  They  did  so.  Mrs.  Wesley 
lay  propped  on  the  pillows,  her  wasted  face  turned  to 
the  light,  a  faint  smile  on  her  lips.  For  a  httle  while 
after  the  hymn  ended  she  lay  silent  with  no  change  on 
her  face.  They  doubted  if  she  saw  John  or,  seeing,  had 
recognized  him.  But  by-and-by  her  lips  moved  and  she 
murmured  his  name. 

"Jacky!" 

He  stepped  to  the  bedside,  and  with  his  hand  covered 
the  transparent  hand  with  its  attenuated  marriage  ring. 

"I  like  them  —  to  sing  to  me,"  she  whispered. 
"When  —  when  I  am  released  —  sing — a  psalm  of 
praise  to  God.     Promise  me." 

He  pressed  her  hand  for  reply,  and  her  eyes  closed 
peacefully.     She  seemed  to  sleep. 

It  was  not  until  Friday  that  the  end  came.  Shortly 
before  eleven  that  morning  she  waked  suddenly  out  of 
slumber  with  lips  muttering  rapidly.  They,  bending 
close,  caught  the  words  "  Saviour  —  dear  Saviour  —  help 
—  at  the  last."  By  the  time  they  had  summoned  John, 
though  the  muttering  continued,  the  words  were  unin- 
telligible :  yet  they  knew  she  was  praising  God. 

In  a  little  while  the  voice  ceased  and  she  lay  staring 
calmly  upwards.  From  three  to  four  o'clock  the  last 
cords  were  loosening.  Suddenly  John  arose,  and  lifting 
his  hand  in   benediction,  spoke  the  words  of  the  Com- 


HETTY   WESLEY  329 

mendatory  Prayer:  '' O  Almighty  God,  in  whom  do  live 
the  spirits  of  just  men  made  perfect,  after  they  are 
delivered  from  their  earthly  prison  ;  we  humbly  com- 
mend the  soul  of  this  thy  servant,  our  dear  Mother,  into 
thy  hands,  as  into  the  hands  of  a  faithful  Creator  and 
most  merciful  Saviour,  most  humbly  beseeching  thee 
that  it  may  be  precious  in  thy  sight.   ..." 

It  was  Hetty  who  bent  low,  took  the  inert  hand,  and 
after  listening  for  a  while  laid  it  softly  down  on  the 
coverlet.  All  was  over :  yet  she  listened  until  the 
voices    of   the    watchers,    released   by  her   signal,  rose 

together  — 

"  Hark !  a  voice  divides  the  sky  — 
Happy  are  the  faithful  dead 
In  the  Lord  who  sweetly  die  —  " 

She  raised  her  face  as  if  to  entreat  for  yet  a  moment's 
respite.  But  their  faces  were  radiant,  transfigured  with 
the  joy  of  their  faith.  And  then  suddenly,  certainly,  in 
their  rapture  she  saw  the  purpose  and  end  of  all  their 
common  sufferings  :  want,  hunger,  years  of  pinching  and 
striving,  a  thousand  petty  daily  vexations,  all  the  hard- 
ships that  had  worn  her  mother  down  to  this  poor  corpse 
upon  the  bed,  her  own  sorrowful  fate  and  her  sisters' 
only  less  sorrowful  —  all  caught  up  in  the  hand  of  God 
and  blazing  as  a  two-edged  sword  of  flame.  Across  the 
blaze,  though  he  was  far  away,  she  saw  the  confident 
eyes  of  Charles  smiling  as  at  a  prophecy  fulfilled.  But 
the  hand  outstretched  for  the  sword  was  John's,  claiming 
it  by  right  indefeasible.  She,  too,  had  a  right  indefeasi- 
ble :  and  before  the  sword  descended  to  cleave  the  walls 


330  HETTY   WESLEY 

of  this  humble  death  chamber  and  stretch  over  England, 
her  heart  cried  and  claimed  to  be  pierced  with  it.  *'  Let 
it  pierce  me  and  cut  deep,  for  my  tears,  too,  have  tem- 
pered it ! " 

From  the  Journal  of  Charles  Wesley  for  the  year  1750 

"  March  ^th.  I  prayed  by  my  sister  Wright,  a  gracious, 
tender,  trembling  soul ;  a  bruised  reed  which  the  Lord 
will  not  break. 

^^  March  i/\th.  I  found  my  sister  Wright  very  near  the 
haven"  ;  and  again  on  Sunday,  the  i8th  :  "Yet  still  in 
darkness,  doubts,  and  fears,  against  hope  believing  in 
hope." 

''March  21st.  At  four  I  called  on  my  brother  Wright, 
a  few  minutes  after  her  spirit  was  set  at  liberty.  I  had 
sweet  fellowship  with  her  in  explaining  at  the  chapel 
those  solemn  words,  *  Thy  sun  shall  no  more  go  down, 
neither  shall  thy  moon  withdraw  itself;  for  the  Lord 
shall  be  thy  everlasting  light,  and  the  days  of  thy  mourn- 
ing shall  be  ended.' 

''  March  26th.  I  followed  her  to  her  quiet  grave,  and 
wept  with  them  that  weep." 


EPILOGUE 

EARLY  in  December,  1803,  in  the  cool  decline  of  a 
torrid  day,  a  small  British  force  —  mixed  regulars 
and  sepoys  —  threaded  its  way  among  the  mountains  of 
Berar.  It  moved  slowly  and  with  frequent  halts,  its  pace 
regulated  by  the  middle  of  the  column,  where  teams  of 
men  panted  and  dragged  at  the  six  guns  which  were  to 
batter  down  the  hill  fortress  of  Gawul  Ghur :  for  roads  in 
this  country  there  were  none,  and  all  the  long  day  ahead 
of  the  guns  gangs  laboured  with  pick  and  shovel  to  widen 
the  foot-tracks  leading  up  to  the  passes. 

Still  further  ahead  trudged  and  halted  the  74th  regi- 
ment, following  a  squadron  of  the  19th  Light  Dragoons, 
and  now  and  again  the  toilers  on  the  middle  slope,  taking 
breath  for  a  new  effort  and  blinking  the  sweat  from  their 
eyes,  would  catch  sight  of  a  horseman  on  a  ridge  far 
overhead,  silhouetted  against  the  pale  blue  sky  for  a 
moment  while  he  scanned  a  plateau  or  gully  unseen  by 
them.  Now  and  again,  too,  in  such  pauses,  the  clear  air 
pulsed  with  the  tramp  of  the  rear-guard  in  the  lower  folds 
of  the  hills  —  sepoys  and  comrades  of  the  78th  and  94th. 

Though  with  arms,  legs,  and  loins  strained  almost  to 
cracking,  the  men  worked  cheerfully.  Their  General  had 
ridden  forward  with  his  staff :  they  knew  that  close  by 
the  head  of  the  pass  their  camp  was  already  being  marked 

33^ 


332  HETTY  WESLEY 

out  for  them,  and  before  sleeping  they  would  be  fed  as 
they  deserved. 

They  growled,  indeed,  but  good-humouredly,  when, 
for  the  tenth  time  that  day,  they  came  to  the  edge  of 
a  gully  into  which  the  track  plunged  steeply  to  mount 
almost  as  steeply  on  the  farther  side :  and  their  good 
humour  did  them  the  more  credit  since  the  General  had 
forbidden  them  to  lock  the  wheels,  on  the  ground  that 
locking  shook  and  weakened  the  gun-carriages. 

With  a  couple  of  drag-ropes  then,  and  a  dozen  men 
upon  each,  digging  heels  in  the  slope,  slipping,  cursing, 
back-hauling  with  all  their  weight,  the  first  gun  was 
trailed  down  and  run  across  the  gully.  As  the  second 
began  its  descent  a  couple  of  horsemen  came  riding  slowly 
back  from  the  advance-guard  and  drew  rein  above  the 
farther  slope  to  watch  the  operation. 

About  a  third  of  the  way  down,  the  track,  which  trended 
at  first  to  the  left,  bent  abruptly  away  to  the  right,  from 
the  edge  of  a  low  cliff  of  rock  ;  and  at  this  corner  the  men 
on  the  drag-ropes  must  also  fling  themselves  sharply  to 
the  right  to  check  the  wheels  on  the  verge  of  the  fall. 
They  did  so,  cleverly  enough  :  but  almost  on  the  instant 
were  jerked  out  of  their  footholds  like  puppets.  Amid 
outcries  of  terror  and  warning,  the  outer  wheel  of  the  gun 
broke  through  the  crumbling  soil  on  the  verge,  the  ropes 
flew  through  their  hands,  tearing  away  the  flesh  before 
the  flesh  could  cast  off  its  grip ;  and  with  a  clatter  of 
stones  the  gun  somersaulted  over  the  slope.  With  it, 
caught  by  the  left-hand  rope  before  he  could  spring  clear, 
went  hurling  a  man.    They  saw  his  bent  shoulders  strike 


HETTY   WESLEY  333 

a  slab  of  rock  ripped  bare  an  instant  before,  and  heard 
the  thud  as  he  disappeared. 

As  they  ran  to  view  the  damage,  the  two  riders 
came  cantering  across  the  gully  and  joined  them.  By 
good  fortune,  at  the  base  of  the  rock  there  welled  a  tiny 
spring  and  spread  itself  in  a  miniature  bog  before  mak- 
ing up  its  mind  to  leap  down  the  mountain-side  and  feed 
the  infant  waters  of  the  Taptee.  Into  this  plashy  soil 
the  gun  had  plunged  and  the  carriage  lay  some  yards 
away  up-ended  on  a  broken  wheel,  but  otherwise  unin- 
jured. Beside  the  carriage,  when  the  General  reached 
it,  an  artillery  sergeant  and  three  of  the  team  of  No.  2 
gun  were  lifting  the  injured  man. 

''Badly  hurt.?" 

The  sergeant  saluted.  *'  We  doubt  it's  over  with  him, 
sir.     His  back's  broken,  seemingly." 

The  General  turned  away  to  examine  the  face  of  the 
cliff,  and  almost  at  once  gave  vent  to  a  low  whistle. 

"  See  here,  Ellerton,  the  rock  is  caverned  and  the  gun 
must  have  broken  through  the  roof.  It  doesn't  look  to 
me  like  a  natural  cavern,  either.  Hi !  half-a-dozen  of  you, 
clear  away  this  rubbish  and  let  me  have  a  nearer  look." 

The  men  turned  to  and  heaved  away  the  fallen  stones 
under  which  the  water  oozed  muddily. 

"  Just  as  I  thought !  Nature  never  made  a  hole  like 
this." 

An  exclamation  interrupted  him.  It  came  from  one 
of  the  reUef  party  who  had  clambered  into  the  cavern 
and  was  spading  there  in  the  loose  soil. 

"  What  is  it  ? " 


334  HETTY  WESLEY 

"A  skeleton,  sir  !  —  stretched  here  as  natural  as  life." 

The  General  dismounted  and  clambered  to  the  en- 
trance followed  by  his  staff  officer.  As  they  reached  it,  the 
man  stooped  again  and  rose  with  something  in  his  hand. 

''  Eh  ?     A  begging-bowl .?  " 

*'Not  a  doubt  of  it,"  said  the  staff  officer,  as  his  chief 
passed  it  to  him.  He  examined  it,  turning  it  slowly 
over  in  his  hands.  "  It's  clear  enough,  though  curious. 
We  have  struck  the  den  of  some  old  hermit  of  the  hills, 
some  holy  man  —  " 

**  Who  pitched  his  camp  here  for  the  sake  of  the 
water-spring,  no  doubt." 

"  Queer  taste,"  said  the  staff  officer  sagely.  "  I  won- 
der how  the  deuce  he  picked  up  his  food." 

**  Oh,  the  hill-men  hereabouts  will  travel  leagues  to 
visit  and  feed  such  a  man." 

"  That  doesn't  explain  why  his  bones  lie  unburied." 

"  No."  The  General  mused  for  a  moment.  "  Found 
anything  else  } "  he  demanded  sharply. 

The  searchers  reported  "Nothing,"  and  wished  to 
know  if  they  should  bring  the  skeleton  out  into  the  light. 

"  No  :  cover  him  up  decently,  and  fall  in  to  limber 
up  the  gun !  "  He  took  his  horse's  bridle  and  walked 
back  to  the  group  about  the  injured  man. 

''Who  is  he.?" 

He  was  told,  a  corporal  of  the  94th  who  had  volun- 
teered for  the  gun  team  two  days  before.  The  sergeant 
who  reported  this  added  diffidently,  "  He  had  half-a- 
dozen  of  his  religious  mates  in  the  team.  He's  a  Wes- 
leyan  Methodist,  sir,  begging  your  pardon," 


HETTY  WESLEY  335 

**  Are  you  one?" 

The  sergeant  saluted. 

"He  was  the  best  man  in  his  company  and  —  and," 
he  added  with  a  touch  of  awe,  ''he  was  converted  by 
Charles  Wesley  himself  —  at  Bristol  in  'eighty,  so  he's 
told  us  —  and  him  aged  but  sixteen." 

The  General  bent  with  sudden  interest  as  the  dying 
man  opened  his  eyes.  After  scanning  his  face  for  a 
moment  or  two,  he  said  gently  : 

"  My  man,  they  tell  me  you  knew  Charles  Wesley." 

The  corporal  painfully  bent  his  brows,  on  which  the 
last  sweat  was  gathering.  "Is  that  —  the  General.?" 
he  gasped  with  a  feeble  effort  to  salute.  Then  his 
brain  seemed  to  clear  suddenly  and  he  answered,  not  as 
soldier  to  commanding  officer,  but  as  man  to  man.  "  He 
converted  me.     Praise  be  to  God  !  " 

"  You  are  going  to  him.     You  know  ? " 

The  corporal  nodded. 

"  And  you  may  take  him  a  message  from  me :  for  he 
once  did  me  a  handsome  turn,  too  —  though  not  in  that 
way.  You  may  tell  him  —  for  I  watched  you  with  the 
guns  to-day  —  that  I  pass  you  for  a  good  soldier.  You 
may  tell  him  and  his  brother  John  that  I  wish  to  com- 
mand no  better  followers  than  theirs.  Now,  is  there 
anything  I  can  do  for  you.?" 

The  man  looked  up  into  the  eyes  of  the  sergeant 
bending  over  him,  muttered  a  word  or  two,  slowly  drew 
his  palm  up  to  his  forehead ;  and  so,  with  the  self-same 
salute,  parted  from  his  earthly  captain  and  met  his 
eternal  Captain  in  Heaven. 


336  HETTY  WESLEY 

"  What  did  he  say  ? "  asked  the  General. 

"  He  was  wishful  not  to  be  put  away  without  a  hymn, 
sir,"  answered  the  sergeant,  drawing  himself  erect  to 
"Attention"  and  answering  respectfully  through  his 
captain  who  had  drawn  near,  having  limbered  up  his 
gun. 

The  General  nodded  and  turned  away  to  watch  the 
lowering  of  the  remaining  guns.  A  new  track  had  been 
cut  and  down  it  they  were  trailed  without  accident.  One 
by  one  they  crossed  the  gully.  Then  the  rear  regiments 
hove  in  sight  with  the  ambulance.  The  dead  man  was 
lifted  in  and  his  carrying-party,  Wesleyans  all,  fell  into 
rank  behind  the  light  wagon  as  that,  too,  moved  on. 

"Ellerton,"  said  the  General  suddenly  as  he  gazed 
after  them,  "did  you  hear  what  I  said  to  that  poor 
fellow  just  now.-*  " 

"Yes,  General,  and  wondered." 

"  It  was  true,  though.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  Charles 
Wesley,  I  should  never  be  here  commanding  these 
troops.  Wesley  or  Wellesley,  sir  —  spell  the  name  as 
you  will :  the  man  who  adopted  my  great-grandfather 
spelt  it  Wesley :  and  he  moved  heaven  and  earth  to 
make  Charles  Wesley  his  heir  before  he  condescended 
to  us.  The  offer  stood  open  for  years,  but  Charles 
Wesley  refused  it.     I  never  heard  why." 

"  What  —  the  hymn-man }  " 

"  Even  so.     Odd  story,  is  it  not  ? " 

The  man  who  was  to  be  the  great  Duke  of  Wellington 
stared  for  a  moment,  lost  in  thought,  at  his  rear-guard 
mounting  the  farther  slope  of  the  gully.     And  as  the 


HETTY   WESLEY 


337 


British  guns  rolled  onward  into  the  dusk,  back  from  the 
glimmering  pass  were  borne  the  words  of  Wesley,  Han- 
del's music  wafting  them  on  its  majestic  wings : 

"Rejoice,  the  Lord  is  King ! 

Your  Lord  and  King  adore  : 
Mortals,  give  thanks  and  sing 

And  triumph  evermore. 
Lift  up  your  heart,  lift  up  your  voice  — 

Rejoice !  again  I  say,  Rejoice ! " 


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